


The Difference Between (Incompatible and Interest)

by ch3stpaynes



Category: One Direction
Genre: A bit of fluff but mostly inbetween sort of drabble, A happy ending because who doesn't adore those?, Admitted love, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Brooding Liam Payne, Control Freak - Freeform, Dirty Talk, Liam's a hopeless romantic, M/M, News Producer Liam, Rimming, Sex, Smut, The Ugly Truth AU, Two stubborn idiots that are so obviously in love, Zayn's a bit cynical when it comes to true love and all of its bliss, interest outweighs incompatibility, slight niam, ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 14:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 44,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4266930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ch3stpaynes/pseuds/ch3stpaynes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Candle lit dinner, the moon's beginning to surface in the sky, tenderly baked beef wellington and green beans on the side." Zayn ends with a giggle, like this is so comical when really this is Liam's idea of the perfect date. The perfect night out with his Mr. Perfect, coated along with his perfect smile and his more than perfect words.</p><p>It's a sort of remembrance, a brutal image that reminds Liam of a long time ago. A time where he wasn't this senseless mass of 'god, help me' or the massive cloud that seems to suffocate him every waking moment of his not-so-perfect life.</p><p>Or his job, because that's a more elementary way of putting it.</p><p>( But how about we just call it a 'The Ugly Truth' AU in which Liam is your typical busy-body news producer and Zayn's that spark of energy that completely ruins him and saves him in the most dysfunctional of ways.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Difference Between (Incompatible and Interest)

**Author's Note:**

> I definitely did my research on this one. Watched the movie loads of time after my first and completley fell head over heels in love with it. How can you not watch a movie and sit there adding in your favorite ship into every character or line? A bit impossible if you ask me. So I went for it. Hope whoever stumbles upon this big ball of, er, comedy? I'd say it's pretty comical, I hope so. Work with me, it's late and I'm just gushing over how fun it was to write this. 
> 
> What I'm really trying to get out is; I hope whoever comes across this enjoys it a great deal. 
> 
> Also, I'm apologizing ahead of time if some of the real life situations incorporated into this aren't the most accurate. I truly tried my hardest to line it all up.

"It is exemplary, Patrick, truly it's something I'd-"

"Feed my children if I had any." Liam finishes off under his breath, nods at the main television screen and lifts his lips into a smile when Louis finishes his sentence.

It's on cue, perfect wording if not wholly impeccable. There aren't any tweaks to his line, he's going by the script for once, Patrick hasn't burnt anything to a crisp and Harry's looking pretty. Like usual, suit and all with a cranberry colored tie looped tightly around his neck because Liam insisted on dark shaded colors for this gloomy Thursday in particular.

"Cut to front camera." Liam orders, curls his lip around the straw to his redbull can with a grimace attached to his swallow. It's a complete laugh, though; the drink.

He absolutely detests the stuff, it's sour, fizzy in all the wrong ways and the aftertaste is  _beyond_  vulgar. But it keeps him awake, just one more necessity that's been added to his early morning survival list. All because he can't afford to fall asleep when he's, well- himself.

Liam Payne, producer of one of the most watched morning show in all of London.

Or maybe he's exaggerating a bit because the ratings lately have been anything but remarkable. It's just a slow patch, he swears. It will be fine, it will all be just dapper in a few weeks when April comes to a close and May rolls in swiftly. Like fog along countryside bogs back in Wolverhampton.

His show always comes around.

Always.

"And get ready f'r commercial break in a few." His tongue chases out quickly, eyes scanning the left center television.

"I'm glad you adore it, Lou. It's topped off with the finest seasoning and the pork is cooked to  _perfection_." Patrick nods with a proud smile, presses his forefinger and thumb together to show satisfaction and Liam's heart catches in his throat.

"Did he just say-" Liam begins.

"Pork?" Louis chokes out, gulps loudly with a barely noticeable gag. Only it's enough for Liam to pick up on and that simply will not do.

_Fuck._

"Yes, isn't it piquant?" Patrick adds and Liam full on cringes at the face Louis is trying to hold down.

(He's doing a shit job at it.)

"Pork like- oink, oink pork?" Harry wonders, Patrick nods, Louis gags and Liam begins to panic.

"Well, it's delicious, Pat." Harry smiles, lifts his cheeks briefly because he's ace at distractions.

"Switch to Javier while he fixes himself. Double-time." Liam barks out. He can't watch this any longer.  

He doesn't mean to be pushy, really. But when one of his anchormen is about to spill his cookies all over the freshly cooked pork, granite counter, and part time chef, he's got a bit of a dilemma on his hands.

And dilemmas don't exactly fly on 'Good Morning London.'

Not on Liam's watch at least.

"Would you just-" He cuts off, slumps his shoulders and takes a proper breath once the camera counts down to the mid-way commercial break.

"That was close." He sighs, shuts his eyes, sits back down in his chair and waits for the hurricane that is Louis Tomlinson to come barreling through the control room door.

It's inevitable because pork is "bloody unacceptable" according to Louis for some unknown reason and Liam distinctly remembers a specific order earlier in the morning involving the incorporation of that particular meat in the next episode of 'Morning Meals with Patrick.'

A pathetic morning cooking show to go along with the bullshit that is Louis & Harry time. Right after the clock ticks eight, (or rather when the general population is shutting down their telly, grabbing their coffees and heading off to work).

But it's just  _so_  Liam to blame the ratings on the time of shooting.

" _Liam Payne_ , boy do I have a bone t' pick with you. God!" Louis yelps and Liam blesses himself before he stands to his feet. He's going to need it.

"Good morning to you, too." He mutters under his breath, waits for Louis' fuse to ignite because surely he isn't finished.

"M'serious, I'm going to-"

"I had no idea about that. I let them know, swear." Liam shrugs, winces when Louis swats away Alec, (his part-time assistant) who's been following him around with a water bottle for a good minute now.

"My fuckin' arse you did. You're  _the producer_ , twat, you deal with that shit." Louis spits and Liam presses his forefinger and thumb against his nose, draws small circles along his skin because it helps relax his nerves.

The big bundles of ' _why didn't you_ ' or ' _but_   _you're in charge of..._ ' lumped, knotted under his skin from countless scoldings and a major lack of appreciation.

"M'sorry, it won't happen again, just-"

"You're goddamn right it won't." Louis cuts him off and Liam sighs once more because if he doesn't, his blood will boil and he'll end up a corpse by tomorrow's weather report.

Or the one he one he still hasn't gotten to reviewing because he's been too busy putting together the grand ' _not acceptable_ ' list for Patrick. All because Louis insists. 

"Just go back out there, n'd pretend it tastes beef tenderloin, A1 included, sort of good." Liam almost begs.

Actually, he does because it's part of his job to keep Louis happy. It may be the most difficult task known to man, but he isn't going to go away anytime soon.

"I will, but I want a raise." Louis cocks his head.

"No fucking way." Liam chokes on a laugh, pushes past him, folder and redbull can clutched in his hand as he exits the panel room.

"Yes fucking way, you absolute knob. I almost jus' died, ask Harry." Louis gawks right beside Liam.

He's so little yet his legs take him at such a fast pace Liam gets chills over it all. Like little spiders in the Spring. Scampering over freshly stirred soil in the garden out front of their building.

"It's true." Harry bucks in, only because he  _has_  to, only because Louis is sort of his-

"Even me  _boyfriend_  agrees, Li. God, you'd think you would be more understanding n'what not." Louis scoffs, skips right beside Liam as they progress down perhaps the longest corridor in the building.

"You're difficult." Liam huffs, ducks past Christian's office because he simply can't be bothered right now.

"But m'your best friend and client."

Oh, god  _no_.

"You are not my client, you're just my a-"

"-All time favorite?" He tries and Liam groans.

"Not even."

"You're  _my_  favorite, Lou." Harry adds in, this intimidated tone attached to his voice that Liam's quick to catch.

"Obviously." Louis squints, flips the fringe away from his eyes with a quick flick of his fingers.

And there's this pity in Liam's heart somewhere for Harry. Lost between all of the stress and poisoned blood. The bags under his eyes, the frown he keeps so tightly plastered to his lips, the one that never leaves and rarely flips over. It must be agonizing, keeping up with a devil on it's own, but the nagging, the bitter sass, the whole lot of it is mad.

"Whatever, I know ya' love me n'd that's plenty of a raise for now." Louis chirps, throws in a wink and quick nudge to Liam's shoulder before taking a sharp right and leaving Liam by himself.

Almost by himself.

"You  _have_  to help me, Liam." Harry pleads the second Louis isn't in hearing range.

"Not you, too." Liam groans.

"Yes, me too." Harry boomerangs, nearly runs into a wall when Liam takes a curvy right.

"It's fun n'd all working with, er, him, but y'know-"

"No, I don't know, what is the exact issue?" Liam says sternly, his jaw clenched because he's finished his drink and now he's got this awful mixture, desire of purely sleep and perhaps a brick so he can knock Harry in the head with it.

Then he'll aim for Louis, then Christian, then Jackie from wiring because she still hasn't gotten around to the glitch smack dab center of camera nine.

"It's the dramatics, mate. I don't think I can do it." Harry says and Liam stops short.

"What did you just say?" He holds his breath. The last thing he needs is for Harry to desert him. Quit on him and leave Liam with king snippy and his hatred for half of the edible options provided on this planet.

Louis on the other hand, may threaten to leave, but he never will. But Harry, well-

"M'tired." Harry rubs at the back of his neck and Liam rolls his eyes.

"We all are, superstar." He shakes his head, pats Harry on the shoulder before leaving him once and for all. Or he hopes because Liam's never quite alone when he wishes to be. 

He's hopeful. Free like. Set on the possible scoring of a few minutes alone in his office. With Louis held up on set, Harry off sobbing in some supplies closet and his "boss" busy with next week's broadcast, maybe, just possibly Liam can-

"Liam!"

Of course.

"Liam, we have a problem." Emma bellows, tucks her tongue between her teeth and pushes after him. Her cheeks are flushed the color of blossoms in the Spring time, lips shaded in with a new gloss. Sparkly, like she's fresh out of primary school with an open mindset to all of the fantastic wonders of womanhood.

(A phase Liam watched Ruth and Nicola buzz through dumbfoundedly, age 6 and obsessed with figurines that he swore could talk-

-Unaware of the many brutalities the world kept waiting for him.)

"There are no problems, Em, only solutions." Liam bites at a smile, holds down a possible panic attack, hopes to god that maybe this isn't a right issue out of a horror movie.

"We've lost mics on set four, three, and seven." She warns, keeps her tone steady because god knows if she is bothered, Liam will most surely be feeling that sting of worry as well.

He swallows hard, keeps the ' _oh god_ ' that swims past his open lips to a minimum drabble.

"That is a problem." He replies, plops himself down in his chair and runs the edge of his thumb along his bottom lip.

"It isn't major, love, you've got loads of time and half 'f the staff s'already on there knees for you." She reminds. "Four, three, and seven aren't on until next week, anyway. We'll rally." She nods firmly.

"We'll rally." Liam repeats, holds the world on his tongue like it's so familiar.

And it is. It's sort of his thing.

Sticking it all out a bit longer just so everything else in the world can pull through.

"Yes, Li. Are ya' deaf now, too?" Emma snorts, a helpless giggle as she turns on her heels, presses along the carpet all the way over to Liam's desk.

"And are you set on the cooking bits scheduled f'r next week?" She hints, tucks away her hopeful grin and Liam sighs helplessly.

"Yes, everything from beef wellington t' shrimp cocktail," He chases out, rolls his eyes shut just so he can breathe.

It's a habit he hasn't quite shaken from his childhood. A manner he hasn't worked out just like biting his lip in fussy situations or giving into other people's problems when he could (should) very well be helping himself.

"Shrimp cocktail?" Emma raises a brow.

"I know it's odd but- s'all we've got." He shrugs, labels the mortified expression on Emma's face as a simple distasteful liking to seafood. It's got to be. No-

It  _has_  to be.

She couldn't possibly find anything wrong with his idea. He's thought it through a hundred times. The payment is in, the kitchen set is prepared for a frying session. It isn't like anyone is allergic to the petite little fella's, that would just be-

Just typical.

"Oh, Liam." She sighs, sits herself down slowly in the chair across from him, the legs wobble and the wood splinters beneath her because the chair's been there for years. Same furniture, same wooden desk, same position. 

"Louis can't have seafood." She shakes her head, squints her eyes the usual way she does when she's delivering bad or unfortunate news.

Or the usual bullshit that adds onto the incredibly massive list of Louis Tomlinson's ' _no, no, that simply will not do_ ,' check sheet.

"You're taking the piss?" He gawks.

In all honesty, he should have known, shouldn't be as surprised as he made himself out to be because this is just another one of those 'Complicated Payne' situations he's injected himself into.

"Wish I was, he's a goddamn terror when faced with the stuff. Think he's allergic or summat." She shivers, "but on the bright side, he's a proper savage for steak." She lifts her lips into a cheeky smile and Liam returns the favor.

Only because he has to. Only because if he hints at the least bit of unhappiness, Emma will throw in her usual speech about finding himself a date to settle his feelings. His dreadful emotions that cause the wrinkles in his eyes to grow a little bit deeper every year.

(The wrinkles he's even named, like Louis, Louis, Christian and Louis-

-but all of it's just something he jokes around about. In his head, of course.)

"Brilliant, maybe he'll choke on it, hm?" Liam nods, barely flinches at the way Emma's mouth drops, the way she shoots her hand out to land a slap on his shoulder.

" _Liam Payne_ ," she scolds with an outstretched finger.

"M'just stressed, you know that." He surrenders, allows her to reach across the desk and pat down his wrinkled, suited arms.

The outfit is cheap, and Liam by far thinks he's worn this exact suit to his cousin's wedding a few months ago. He can probably even map out the same champagne spill under his collar because it was an  _unforgettable_  mistake by his drunken mother, bless her and the low tolerance he did not inherit luckily enough.

"I know, darling. It'll get better, though. Promise ya'" She sucks her bottom lip in between her teeth "you're a sweet lad."

Liam quirks his lip, allows Emma to look him over for a solid minute before speaking.

"Now you look like a proper business man." She grins.

Liam hates the word. Businessman. But he likes the way Emma means it as a compliment, makes it seem like his job isn't completely meaningless, isn't a complete ruin of his life because sometimes he thinks he could be a better street merchant than he could a producer.

And he hopes it isn't dreadfully daft like to picture a life where there's nothing but a low, hazy sun just barely lifted above the horizon, faded out clouds and stars hanging, spread out over the faded amber set. Sun rays as weak as rubber bands, poky tourists and a few returning locals because they can't quite get enough of Liam's incredible new hair gel. The one that he's gone and created in some cosmetic laboratory in central London. Like it's what he's known for.

A hair gel because that's what he'd rather be into then all of this.

But it's all stupid because when he thinks hard enough, he's fine the way he is.

Early twenties,  _voluntarily single_ (Louis can fuck right off with his shit opinion of finding love young), and babysitting half of his staff with the occasional support of-

"So, anything particular go down last night, er-" Emma bites along her bottom lip and Liam tilts his head back, knocks the daydream from his mind.

"No, nothing at all." He breathes out quick, pushes along the feeling of utter dread and self regret.

"Bullocks, I bet it went  _more_  than lovely." Emma cheers, although her face drops suddenly and her hand raises to her chest without warning, "unless-"

"Yeah." Liam drops his eyes.

"You  _didn't_." Emma covers her mouth, fingertips done, freshly pressed acrylic nails the color of pumpkins early Fall.

"I did." Liam pouts, dropping his chin low.

"The tap water again, Liam, really?" She purses her lips, curves her smile into a frown and leaves it frozen in place.

Liam nods, winces at the bellowed gasp she pushes out next.

"Told you, m'not fit f'r dates n'such. M'buzy." He mumbles, draws steady fingers up and down his forearm to draw out all of the poison, the stress eating away at his bones.

"Buzy with what exactly? Knitting?" Emma teases and Liam cranes his neck, holds his head away so she can't see the grin playing along his lips.

"No, m'just a-"

"-You're a young, handsome,  _strapping as all hell_  and bloody fit lad, look at yourself." Emma scolds, scolds because one, she's ace at that and two, because it's come to that point where Liam's so low down, he needs a good smack to the face every now and then.

(Not literally of course because he'd have her sacked in a heartbeat-

-Or maybe not considering he needs Emma like he needs air. His little bubble of sanity with warm eyes, a comforting smile and all of the right words when he's feeling down. Silly hip pinches and blushy smiles when Liam's sort of dreading the definition of his existence.)

Just a wakeup call that his life isn't one hundred percent atrocious because that would be utterly awful.

He's got it good, well- good enough. Somewhat easy most of the time because he hasn't got complaints circling his head constantly like he thinks and-

"Oh, Liam. One last thing. I'd like a chat with bossy-boy about my 'potential moving' to the traffic network we talked about earlier on." Harry pops his head in past the door, throws in a winks at Emma who shifts under the gesture.

"You're relentless,  _my god_." He groans. He doesn't recall anything that's being said and he's nearly ready to drop dead when Louis shuffles into the room right afterwards.

Impeccable timing as per usual.

"Liam Payne, so help me if that man attempts to shove a spoon full of jello in my mouth one more time..." Louis shakes his head, his cheeks are red and he looks like he's going to blow.

"Fucking hell." Liam murmurs.

"This is what m'talking about, Li." Harry cocks his head to the side, wide eyes and a dismayed look on his face because even to him, Louis looks like a babbling twit.

"Excuse you?" Louis barks and Liam just braces himself because that's all he can really do when fire meets water in the center of his office.

"Nothing," Harry coughs, his deep green eyes are filled with pure panic. His hands are shoved into his pockets and Liam can tell he's trying not to squirm under Louis' narrowed eyes.

Eyes that could intimidate a coyote in the middle of the woods given the circumstances.

"No, what was it, Harry? M'sorry, didn't quite catch it. Is this about the bedsheets again? Or is it the meat? My god, my sincerest apologies that I don't moan over pork like you do. S'revolting." Louis spits, grimaces at his lover and Liam turns to face Emma who looks quite frankly mortified.

"I think both of you are being a bit over the top-" She sits up but-

"Because you're an overly dramatic  _dickhead_." Harry huffs, backs up just a step because Louis may very well hit him.

"You  _fucking_  arse." Louis shouts, lands a hard smack right on Harry's chest.

There it is.

"Ow, d'you see this, Liam? I can't do it." Harry whimpers, "it's one thing outside of work, but we're simply incompatible inside." He finishes with a drawn out gulp, a gasp for air afterwards like he's drowning.

"Oh, get over yourself, inconsiderate plonker-"

"Me?" Harry scowls.

"Yes,  _you_. Now are you quite finished?"

Liam traces his fingers along his ID string, the fabric loosely hung around his neck like a ribbon. He brings the silver whistle to his lips, hovers it there for mere second and blows harshly with one quick draw.

The sound startles all three of them (even Emma who's resorted to sneaking around the edge of hurricane Bitch, slowly drawing nearer to the door to escape) and the sudden silence is deafening.

"You." Liam points at Louis, manages a smile to really top off the fact he's exhausted and this is going to completely push him off the edge if he isn't there already, "you have a live roll in less than five minutes, if you plan on keeping your job, I suggest you go."

Louis parts his lips to speak, but Liam cuts him off immediately, "now."

"About time, now c'n you please-" Harry begins with a short lived sigh, all of it dying out the second Liam holds up a hand.

"You too, go. Please." Liam adds on, keeps his eyes narrowed as both of them finally exit the cramped room.

If it were ten more seconds of banter, he most likely would have quit himself. Luckily enough his whistle was handy at the most convenient of times because truly, that's what it's come to now.

A whistle.

Like half of his employee's have the brain and willpower of a lad freshly admitted into primary school. A woody doll tucked into their side, mum's lipstick freshly smudged against their cheek and a lunchbox with a not-so faded Batman logo printed onto the front.

"Horrible those two are." Emma purses her lips, traces a sympathetic smile along her lips.

"I don't know how you do it." She shakes her head, sucks her bottom lip in between her teeth once the office door clicks shut. And Liam mirrors her, stutters a bit because, well-

"I don't know either."

 

**===**

 

Liam's eyes scan over the document, his fingers press into the paper slightly as he reads over the words 'Potential cancellation' printed neatly along the bottom.

"Do you understand my issue, then?" Christian asks, raises a brow at Liam who swallows hard. A bit too hard and he has to clear his throat rather obnoxiously.

"Perhaps it's a bluff-"

"God, Liam. Have you gone completely mental?" Christian gapes, reaches across his desk to snatch the thinned paper back into grasp.

"Do ya' think production companies as big as  _this_  like to play  _bluff_?" He tilts his head, folds his hands atop the wood of his desk and Liam parts his lips.

"Well, no, but-"

"But what? We're properly fucked, mate. And I have two kids, one of which who is off to Uni in a matter of two weeks and still does not have his Historical Arts book handy." Christian bites along his lower lip, his eyes frantic and his gestures panic stricken.

Liam's never seen him like this.

"Maybe we could turn it around, like- jazz it up a bit?" Liam offers, only it's complete shit and he wants to shrink with the look he's receiving.

"Jazz it up a bit?" His boss repeats and Liam lowers his eyes.

_Fuck._

"We've been beat by all of the other network shows, s'fucked." Christian shakes his head and Liam twiddles his thumbs in his lap.

"It will be better next week, things always look up n'd we always make it." Liam swears.They always do, they're tip-top, diligent businessman with brilliant ideas and a hell of a lot of motivation.

Maybe one of them is a major prat when it comes to certain foods and spitting out the right lines, but, well.

"Will it be?" His boss squints, leans forward and taps his fingers along the wood.

"It's temporary," Liam argues.

"We're going down. M'thinking about just like.." Christian presses his forefingers together and Liam sits up.

"You aren't killing the show?" He half asks half begs because he  _can't_.

Only he  _can_  and Liam can't do anything about it. Christian is the station owner and he has the top word over everyone and everything else. Though most of the time he's too pissed off of cheap beer to even notice a dead plant in the hallway.

"Liam, I love you, man. I truly do. You're smashing this job, really. I truthfully mean that, but what I need is some numbers. Not a hundred, not two hundred, but-"

"Bigger." Liam finishes and Christian nods.

"Exactly." He holds a hand out, firmly grasps Liam's hand and releases with a quick "I believe in you, Payne."

And Liam can surely go for another red bull because they keep him awake, alert, and most importantly of all; confident.

He really needs some confidence right now.

 

**===**

 

Liam absolutely loves it- his flat.

It's got band posters and Marvel comic strips from back when he was a little lad hung up on every wall. Soft carpets that loosen the muscles in his toes every time he walks on them. His couch that does wonders on his back when he's been in that stiff leather work chair all day. Ears open to complaint after complaint, issue after issue.

His bedroom with a more simplistic touch. Some bedside lamp his mum bought him for Christmas too many years ago and a bookshelf stocked with novels from Ernest Hemingway to J.K Rowling.

(And even though Louis teases him for all of it, he adores the reading, the many brilliant words of Charles Dickens and the occasional read of Emily Bronte, that is.)

(And maybe some of his date-help books that he so foolishly published around a year ago when he was hopeless and lonely. He still is, just a little bit less.)

He's got this bed frame crafted from some sort of soft, light wood the furniture store convinced him into gushing over.

(Which he partly regrets purchasing considering the ridiculous amount of teething marks imprinted into the sides from-)

Loki.

His dog who's a darling pup on his own.

(Except for when he's teething on expensive bed frames and rummaging through the trash can.)

He pads into the room right then, curious whimpers and a furiously wagging tail at work as he analyzes Liam's figure.

The brown of his eyes are extremely comforting when Liam's got nothing but relaxation on his watch. Sort of like now.

"Hey, babe." He grins, bending down to run a hand over his soft fur.

Loki yips happily and hops onto the couch just as Liam sits himself down, hand digging about for the TV with the remote that was so thoughtfully jammed there by-

Himself, who else?

He hasn't got a roommate, or better yet a partner in crime for quiet nights like tonight. Not a lad fresh out of uni with perhaps a steady obsession for reading classical romance novels and staying up until the early hours of the morning, watching legendary movies with buttery popcorn and heavy eyelids. Soft kisses like they can live off of just that. Steady heartbeats like a bass drum and silent rhythms. 

Definitely  _not_  a fit bloke with a laugh as beautiful or as calming as silver bells, or eyes the color of early spring whether they be brown, blue, green like budding roses and their stems in the Summer.

His Mr. Perfect.

Loki barks, pulls Liam out of his state and nuzzles his nose into Liam's side.

"Miss me?" He wonders, scratches just behind his ear because he just loves that.

The pup whines, small eyes wide as he examines Liam's structure.

He jerks suddenly with a whimper, small paw slipping along Liam's leg, a click of a button and Liam's television flicks on. 

"Everyone thinks they know love." A voice sparks Liam's interest. He lifts his head, eyes scanning over the bloke on his screen and well-

Woah.

His skin is tanned, voice soft- only it isn't, it's mixed along with something scratchy, rough like the stones leading up to Liam's front door. His hair is dark, hanging loosely above his eyes, eyes the color of early morning coffee, or caramel bits Liam's gran used to spoil him with on Christmas mornings.

"Everyone thinks they know their destined happy ending. A tux, a wedding dress, cheap cake from some shit bakery downtown." The boy drags on, shakes his head at the camera with a smirk.

"It's bullshit."

Liam's mouth drops open and he sits up, fumbles for the remote as he turns up the volume.

Maybe he's hearing funny.

Or perhaps Liam's just experiencing a sugar crash due to too many energy drinks. It usually happens around this time of night anyway and he feels sort of dizzy now that he really focuses.

It's got to be the drinks.

(Or maybe it's just the overload of bullshit that's being rapidly spewn out by an exceedingly handsome bloke on his TV screen.)

"Take self-help books for example. 'Dating and Drinking', 'Getting to "I do"' I mean-" The boy laughs, grasps a set of books and tosses them into a trash bin beside him.

Paperbacks, fine, bold print that looks a lot like-

Liam gapes at the screen, fights the urge to face his bookshelf because he might just have those two  _exact_  books stuck, hidden away there.

"It's all a joke, a frilly game that won't mean anything in the end because true love  _doesn't_  exist." The boy raises his voice, waves his hand in the air like it's all confirmed. Like this news is old. Like everyone on the planet should give in to such negativity and live a life of loathsome relationships and somber greetings.

Liam scoffs, stands up from his spot on the couch and watches the screen intently, digs for his cellphone and begins to punch the numbers displayed at the bottom of his screen into his dial.

"Let's take the first caller, then." Liam's television echos and he waits for the pick-up. It's one, two, perhaps four rings later that the line connects. This steady hum of a dial tone and then sudden breakthrough.

His hands are trembling and he's not sure why. He's got this incredible desire to hit the bloke on his screen in the head with his 'Get the Guy' hardcover copy sitting right on his bedside table a few doors down.

"Hello, brave citizen number one." A voice rings through Liam's telephone and he takes in a quick breath and gathers his wits before answering.

"So, you're saying humans are just incapable of experiencing true love?" Liam wonders, keeps his eyes on the TV screen.

"M'dreadfully sorry, did I burst your life-size, bogus bubble of hope?" The boy asks, keeps a smug smirk on his face the entire time.

"The only thing you burst is your valid point. Seemingly enough, you have nothing to back up your argument and I have more hope stored up than can fit in a single bubble." Liam huffs into the receiver, shakes his head at the television.

What a senseless twit.

"Okay, okay." The boy begins, sits up in his chair, "go on."

"There isn't anything to say except for you're simply a tremendously bitter pessimist who obviously has never experienced love or most likely even a loving gesture." He pauses. "You're just a-  _a labeler."_ Liam spits. His cheeks are red and his blood is boiling at this beyond despicable opinion laid out right in front of his eyes.

It's beyond disgusting, revolting, vulgar.

"A labeler?" The voice rings through. His tone is questioning, humorous like he's just heard one of Harry's cheesy jokes.

"Yeah, you heard me. You slap labels on things you don't understand." Liam says, watches how the boy flicks his hair from his face, settles back in his chair and stares straight ahead.

"And you know what I think?" Liam wonders, holds off a solid three second before answering, "I think you're afraid of love."

"Afraid of a bunch of bullshit? Poor fairytale lad you are. Stuck in this fantasy world where people actually give a solid shit about each other n'd every solution can be fixed with a ring and three sappy, pathetic words that seem t' mend even the most shattered of hearts, oh give me a  _break_." The lad ties off, although the whole time he's arguing, he keeps a steady tone, not one crack, not one pause and Liam's left gaping once more.

"How could you say that?" He gasps lightly, his eyes pinched in the opposite of a smile as he gathers his thoughts.

"Face it, love's jus' this big illusion we all fall into at some point. I'm just trying to prevent the general population from stumbling into it, it would be atrocious if everyone was-"

"Happy? Gushing? Please elaborate on how that would be awful?" Liam asks, ignores Loki who's yipping about, hunting some spider across the carpet underneath his feet.

"You don't seem to be gushing, you seem, quite frankly, pissed, mate." The boy laughs, leans forward and nearly brushes the telephone with his nose.

"Brooding, even."

"M'not, it's just because you- well, you-" Liam mumbles off, bites at the corner of his lip before-

"I actually have a boyfriend who loves me endlessly." Liam chirps into the receiver, makes sure his words are clear so every viewer following this dumpster of a TV show can hear him.

He's lying. Brutally. But all he can focus on is owning the bastard on his screen. His view is so off it's cringe-worthy.

Actually, it point blank is and Liam's sure his cheek muscles will be sore as all hell tomorrow morning.

"S'that so? Tell me about him." The bloke snorts, kicks his feet up, taps his fingers along the front of his messy desk.

Papers strewn about like a massive fire hazard and too many obscene bobble heads for Liam to count. A pen cup that's toppled over on one side, pencils spilled, probably water damage stains for beverages without coasters. But it's all beside the point. 

Liam lifts his chin, presses his lips together before speaking.

"Well, he's polite, charming, into poetry. He's beautiful and he doesn't even know it, he's got more than enough manners for a lifetime or two and-"

"Okay, enough, god." Liam's cut off suddenly and he scoffs.

"What's the matter? Realizing you're wrong?" Liam wonders with a cocky sneer.

He can't be seen, he knows that, but he can't help it.

There's this short break of silence until it isn't. And Liam flinches at the laugh that barks through his cell phone abruptly.

"No, far from retreat. You're jus' boring me to death, man. And I also think you're full of it. Are you sure you aren't just describing a Jane Austen character?" The boy asks and Liam stays silent because- 

 _fuck_.

"Exactly. I think you should just accept the fact that there is no such thing as dreamy love-quotes, messy snogs in the pouring rain and true, pure love all together. It's all a sham." The boy drabbles on and Liam's mouth drops again.

"How could- how could you possibly-" Liam stutters, trips over his words with a slack jaw.

"S'the truth, mate. And it's rather ugly. Have a lovely evening, though."

The line goes dead and Liam pulls his phone away from his ear, slumps backwards with an awed expression and plops onto the couch. He reaches out for the remote and clicks of the TV as fast as possible because he's truly dumbfounded.

Love isn't hopeless.

 _He_  isn't hopeless, and surely the complete arse on the other end of that phone call was under the influence of something because no one on this planet could possibly believe less in pure love than  _him_.

Some narcissistic dickhead who Liam can gladly go the rest of his days without ever uttering another single syllable to. And he's more sure about that in particular than anything.

 

**===**

 

The leather is uncomfortable, lumpy hills underneath Liam's bottom. His fingers are twitching nervously underneath the long, wooden table and he can't help it because he's a wreck when he doesn't know what exactly is going on and why. 

He shouldn't be nervous.

Yet he has every right to be because Christian doesn't call emergency meetings for nothing.

"I think ya' need t' relax, bro." Louis nudges Liam's shoulder and he jumps, jerks backwards so fast it's awkward. 

"Woah." He laughs and Liam deflates into his chair.

"S'probably jus' something to do with a classic beer switch up, or maybe Christy didn't get the proper shipment of his favorite gin."

"No." Liam shakes his head, gulps and traces a finger up along his collar.

"Saw the shipment come in today. It's something else." He purses his lips together and links his fingers under the table when Louis whispers a short " _oh, fuck._ " under his breath.

"Oi, fuck what?" Harry buds in from across the table.

"Fuck you." Louis rolls his eyes and Liam shifts to the left just an inch.

"Are you still nutty? God," Harry shakes his head, curves his shoulder back into black leather and lifts his chin. "Talk about delicate."

"Are you really going to start with me here?" Louis pushes forward, lifts a finger at Harry who for once in his life, doesn't look the least bit terrified.

"Try me."

"Oh, you fuckin' wait. You keep this in mind next time you're spurting all over the silk pillows because I haven't bothered to help you ou-"

"Oh my god, would you two shut it?" Christian laughs, slams his 'Kiss me I'm the Boss' shot glass down at his head of the table because he may just be that full of himself.

(And Liam wonders if anyones bothered to tell him he isn't technically in charge. It's his studio, his products, but if they could all just pull together and buy him out of his money-)

Louis keeps his eyes focused on Harry and Liam keeps his hands folded in his lap, attempts to control his abnormal heart rate because he skipped the energy cola's today.

Caroline from wardrobe looks just as nervous from her spot down at the opposite end, but Liam just assumes it's because she hasn't been receiving any flowers from her mysterious lover she met in the States. Some long-term relationship she's been blabbering on about for months. 

(Or it's the fact that some anonymous arse cut off half of the sleeves to her newly purchased felden trench coats.)

Nick, or better yet a complete slave to Christian himself is fiddling his thumbs, his eyes are drooping like he's about to pass out and well- he always looks that way, but that's only because he's forced to deal with Christian and his high demand for flimsy packaged cigarettes and rental movies from the film shop down town.

It may not be a long drive, but if Christian's ace at one thing, it's making simple tasks become difficult ones.

And that's precisely why Liam's where he is in this business. Close enough to the top to see the sun, but still too far down to actually sun bathe.

(Not like he would for fun, he hates that sort of thing because of the possible chances of skin illness and god knows what else.)

"S'all going to be fine, jus' watch." Emma whispers into his ear suddenly, slips into her seat and runs a hand over Liam's to calm him down because she's ace at that. 

He melts into the touch and keeps a positive mindset. He'll be good. This is just something daft. Some worthless issue Christian's gone and made complaint worthy.

"We're all aware of the little issue that's becoming quite large and I think it's best we take the show up a notch, right?" He clicks his pen, licks over his lip with a quick survey of opinion.

Liam won't protest.

He won't.

"So, I'm bringing in a solution. But I just want to make it known this lad is a bit- well, rough around the edges." Christian smiles, clicks on the projector and stands back so everyone can see.

Liam squints his eyes, leans over just a bit until-

"Oh my god." He mumbles.

"This will be our savior, our tour guide out of total madness, Zayn Malik." Christian points to the screen, turns on his heel with this pathetic half-tipsy grin stuck to his lips.

A ridiculous picture of Zayn's plastered there. Maybe it isn't completely ridiculous, but- he's got his tongue stuck out, this curve of his lips into something blush worthy. It's Zayn. That's his name. That's his identity and that's the utter arse who has the nerve to dredge on about love and how it's a brooding discomfort that life throws your way and-

Liam's gaze locks on his eyes. Light brown and comforting like cinnamon tea but sharp as razor blades cutting up against Liam's jaw every Sunday.

That pointless shave his brain insists on. Not like he needs it when he's behind the scenes, making everyone else look just stunning while he's wasting away in a cramped control room, suffocating, drawing out short breaths because he can't afford to breathe with his schedule.

"Innhe' handsome?" Christian wonders, draws his shoulders back in one roll.

Liam swallows hard, runs his hands up along his things and holds down that promise he made to himself to  _not_  protest.

He won't.

He's got Emma right beside him, a calm squeeze to his thigh every now and then because she is the closest human to ever figure out how he works. His inside gears, his thoughts. A potential saint, Liam thinks.

"M'starting him off slow. Persay, four days a week, ten minutes per episode." Christian rushes out with a proud smile. Like this is all foolproof, like this is going to save them all and spare the gruesome details that lay ahead.

"What?" Liam sputters, he can't just  _not_. It's absurd, insane, total suicide if this idea hasn't killed them already because Zayn's, well-  _Zayn_.

"Is there an issue, Liam?" Christian tilts his head, knits his brows together and clicks on the lightswitch to his close left. The bulb flickers with a click and it's just enough to remind Liam that they may need this.

Not exactly  _this_ , but a pick-me-up of some sorts.

One that particularly doesn't involve cynical morons like the one on the screen. Smoky lashes casting dark, charcoal smudges along his cheeks, crisp skin and lips that are so full, so pink-  _no_.

"Problem?" Yes, very much so, you can't be serious?" He gapes, keeps his feet stuck to the ground as he grabs for words.

"That man is a prejudice dolt who stands for everything that is so brutally wrong with our society." Liam strangles out, ignores the slap that brushes against his shoulder from Louis.

"You watch his show?" Christian wonders and Liam shifts in his chair.

"No, well, once, but it was like- it was just on." He mumbles, drops his gaze because he hates that smirk on his boss's face.

"Oh, come on, Li. The guys got a point of view, he isn't a devastating bore, or fluorescent or cheesy like your cooking bits." Christian bites and Liam winces.

"I thought the cooking was doing us well, everyone loves cooking." He argues, turns his head to hopefully gain some nodding heads but everyone remains silent. 

"Almost everyone." Louis throws in from the side and Liam sits back, turns his head so he doesn't have to look at Emma.

"Well, I don't think we need him. I've got loads of ideas printed, they're all right on my desk and-"

"They're absolute shit, mate."

It's a husky, low toned voice that sends chills up Liam's spine. This familiar smoky chuckle that follows close behind the words, rolls right off of his tongue, each syllable curling up into this awkward twist. A masked accent, a unique sort of slur that Liam doesn't quite understand. And it's almost soothing.

Almost.

"Ah, there he is." Christian reaches out, slaps his palm against another, a hand Liam's positive is there but he won't look because it's surely too late to turn this all around now.

"Actually, worse than terrible." Zayn adds and Liam scoffs, digs his fingers into his thighs because he could scream.

"Excuse me?"

"Comedy hour?" Zayn laughs from behind him, "what about 'quote of the day.'" He adds in and Liam spins around.

His eyes catch on the way Zayn's skin glows under the light. Hair long, just a bit of stubble lined along his sharp jaw, warming eyes that are so much more intricate than Liam's HD channels.

"You unbelievable twi-"

It's a pinch to his shoulder that cuts Liam off and he huffs when he spins to face Emma.

"Saving you." she whispers and Liam slumps backwards, "only because I adore you."

"This is Zayn, m'sure you're all aware of his  _incredible_  show." Christian announces like he's won the fucking lottery.

In fact, he's won the opposite, the sure and almost certain cancellation of Liam's only shred of hope and a dream he's been working on for too long.

He's ruined.

"Regrettably enough." Liam mumbles, only to earn a stern, warning glare from Emma who has her jaw clenched and eyes locked into a menacing squint.

This sort of 'I'm watching you' glare that he is awarded with too often.

"He's going t' do us wonders here, promise." Christian laughs, plants his hand around Zayn's shoulder. Smooths his fingers over his suit and Liam has to look away to keep from full on vomiting.

He's nauseous, Harry's spinning and he could use a-

"Cheers, boss." Zayn smirks and Liam chokes on a cough, sucks in air quickly afterwards.

"You already hired him?" He scowls, eyes averting quickly when everyone around the table begins to gawk.

"Yes, is that an issue?" Christian tilts his head, releases his grip from Zayn and he sways forward.

"No-"

"So, who's this ball of joy? Don't believe we've been properly introduced, have we?" Zayn lifts his lips, stuffs his hands into his pockets and keeps the smug grin all the way through. Like he knows an asshole sort of grin is Liam's least favorite thing in the world. 

"Your producer." Liam's chews out before he can choose to ignore him.

"Brilliant," Zayn snorts, rocks back on his heels, "I fancy a lad on top."

 

**===**

 

He rolls his cuffs up, paces past his desk then over to the side. His mirror is crooked, Liam swears it isn't just his nerves. His trembling hands, quivering lips and cold blood.

He shouldn't be upset in the least. He has nothing to worry about. He's got ideas, rich ones, he'll submit a few and get his show back. A few strings, a few tugs and he'll be fine.

' _I am an award winning news producer_.'

He repeats the words in his head, over and over. Repeats them until his brain can't seem to comprehend them anymore. Rolls his cuffs down once more and sighs to himself.

Four years of working his arse off for cheap coffee, a physical complaint box and a whistle that's beginning to rust along the edges and he's left with  _this_.

This absolute maniac who's certainly going to destroy this company. 

Luckily enough, Liam doesn't have to throw it all away himself, now he's got Zayn here to do it and that sounds so sour in his head he cringes.

Cringes with a bit of acid reflux because he's that torn up, that upset and it's all because of-

"You look absolutely wrecked, mate."

Zayn.

"Oh, god. You don't knock? What's wrong with you?" Liam jumps, steadies a hand along his suit side and loosens his collar.

"M'sorry, didn't realize you were busy," Zayn clicks his tongue, leans up against the office door and keeps his gaze straight. "Didn't take you for the 'wank in my office' type."

"God." Liam bites the inside of his cheek, curses mentally at the way his face is heating up, holds down all of the incredibly harsh things he wants to scream about in his throat.

Zayn chuckles, curls his lip under his teeth and tilts his head back.

"What's so funny?" Liam bites, crosses his arms like a five year old who hasn't gotten his way.

It's what he must look like.

A riled up toddler.

"Nothin'," Zayn curves his smile and Liam snorts.

"Then you can leave, m'sure you weren't looking to converse with a fairytale-lad like myself." He huffs, keeps his eyes down because he can't keep looking at him.

"It was you." Zayn widens his eyes, this full on amusement beginning to play out on his face. It's sickening. Truly.

All of it sort of like a broadway production of ' _I'm here to end you, surprise_.'

"Where's poetry reading, unblemished Mr. Beautiful?" Zayn adds on, knits his brows together and bites along pink, sugary lips.

"He's, er-"

"Non-existent?" Zayn offers and Liam bows his head.

_Fucking-_

"S'cool, mate. I knew it from the second you started to blubber about the lad being all polite, I mean c'mon." Zayn rolls his eyes, blinks once and Liam hates himself momentarily for the way he gets caught up in the thick lashes coating over Zayn's soft skin.

"You're- you're  _vulgar_  and you're bothersome and m'not having this conversation with you in my office." Liam shakes his head, stands his ground because this is  _his_  office,  _his_  show,  _his_  sanity on the line.

"Hey, we're neighbors now, gotta get used to it." Zayn reminds and Liam swallows down a gag.

Not even.

"N'd thanks, for last night. We make  _sick_ TV." Zayn chews along another rising smirk, shrugs his shoulders like he's handing over an impressive compliment.

"No," Liam corrects, "you make imbecilic trash watched by stay at home jerk-offs and half-wit, dumbed down blokes who are too busy with their hands down their pants to switch the channel." He huffs, takes one step forward because either he's left alone now, or he will gladly take it upon himself to hide away in the supply closet just down the hall.

"And I don't watch your frilly program, my-" Liam cuts off, quirks his lips as he attempts to word it. "My pup stepped on the remote."

"Right, yeah, n'd me cat drove me here." Zayn laughs, his eyes thrown into a squint and his tongue stuck out between his teeth.

It's a sound like silver bells and everything else that falls into the category of calming charms Liam adores. It's almost perfect-

If the source wasn't a babbling, heartless twat.

"Goodbye, Zayn." Liam shoves past him, a brush of his shoulder and one last disgusted scoff to top it all off.

"Goodbye,  _Leeyum_. Look forward to workin' with ya!"

Liam flinches at the calling, makes a sharp left, shoves past the men's washroom and slides down against the door just a few inches so he can catch his breath.

Bloody fuck.

 

**===**

 

"I think ya' should just give 'im a chance, he isn't like, here to ruin us or summat." Harry shrugs, leans back in his chair as he stares back at Liam's reflection.

"I don't care if he solves world hunger, halts global warming, saves  _this_  show. I want him ruined." Liam clenches his jaw, lifts his chin because he's serious.

So harshly serious it freaks him out just a little bit because he's not one to express hatred offen. Irritation, paranoia, exhaustion yes. But most of those emotions are just set off because of the booster drinks and slight lack of sleep.

"Ouch." Louis echos from somewhere behind him, "dontcha' think you're being a bit, I dunno, malicious?"

"You're joking?" Liam wonders but Louis shrugs his shoulders.

"Just sayin', Leeymo."

"M'not being evil, Louis. This is  _our_ show,  _our_  job for the love of god." Liam stands his ground and Louis just runs a hand through Harry's hair messily.

"Bug off." Harry jolts and Liam gives Louis a look because he's about to thwack him and that  _never_  ends well.

"Fuckin' bitter s'what you are." Louis mumbles under his breath and Liam groans when Harry elbows Louis in the side.

"What was that?"

"M'going to-" Louis raises a fist.

"Go find your mic?" Liam cuts him off and nods towards the door, "now."

He shakes his head, keeps a murderous glare on Harry's figure as he backs out.

And Liam just knicks a small can of cola from the available mini fridge, plucks a straw from a nearby container and sets off to the panel room. He's got more than just two fighting dolts on his plate now.

He's got Zayn, and he's a full course fucking meal on his own.

 

**===**

 

"Here we go." Christian plops down next to Liam, flashes him this soft smile like he hasn't just ruined his life.

Actually, Zayn has, all too sweetly.

A solid few days and the clutter building up just outside of Liam's office is enough for him to scream.

It's only because Zayn's playing this game on purpose. The whole irritating habits game that Liam disturbingly always seems to lose at. And it isn't just because Zayn's office door is two feet from Liam's, (fuck the architects) it's because Zayn is Zayn.

And Liam curses the name and everything else that comes along with it.

(Not breathtaking smiles and light heart murmurs everytime he sticks his tongue out past his teeth, a quick flicker of ' _not completely maddening_ ' glinting over his expression.)

But no- that's mental.

And Liam's more than sick of mental.

He settles in his chair, tucks his smile away at the cup of tea Emma sent in because she's got this certain sixth sense whenever Liam's having a bad day. (Every day). A peppy attitude and a can-do spirit attached with a bow, just like his mum, just like-

The camera's focus in on Louis who has his mic on backwards- _the fucking twit_. Although it should still work, Liam payed extra for the long range pick-up and he still has the receipt saved in his desk somewhere just incase.

"Welcome to another beautiful day here in Birmingham, my name's Louis Tomlinson and this is your daily wake up call." He starts off, keeps a decent smile all the way through that makes up for his microphone mishap.

"Get ready for a single on Harry." Liam clicks his pen, sips on his cola and leans back.

"Many people believe that television standards have dropped to an all time low, but we sit here today to prove that theory wrong with this man-"

Liam can't help the smirk that tugs along his lips when the camera rounds off to Zayn. This oblivious expression stuck to his face just like Liam hoped.

"Really?" Christian nudges him and Liam shrugs.

"Zayn Malik, everyone." Louis smiles, holds it one, two, three...

"Hello." Zayn waves, nods forward towards the camera. This glint of calmness in his eyes that lingers through the screen.

A steady glance, a serene setting like the boat harbor right off of Liam's favorite beach. The one right off of madison way, a long while out of town with too many rocks but it's-

"Harry in three, two," Liam brushes off the tingle, counts down, licks the excess sugar off of his lips from his drink once the angle switches.

"Zayn, we'll get right into it." Harry tucks a strand of loose hair behind his ear. It's long, gangly but he pulls it off in a way Liam can't begin to understand.

"How d'you generally respond to critics who label your show as 'offensive' or 'brutal'?" Harry cocks a brow and Liam full on applauds him for the tone he adds in last minute because it's  _pure_  gold.

"I mean it is, but so is the truth. And people need to be aware of the truth." Zayn shrugs, leans back in his chair with a soft smile. And-

_Dammit._

"Sap." Liam mumbles under his breath.

Although he means smooth because-  _fuck_ \- he's cocky and arrogant and he knows exactly what to say and when to say it. Even when Liam shouldn't find it clever or witty and it's just a mess of unsorted emotions he saves for the empty corners in his head.

The lonely spaces.

"Ha, and the truth about what exactly?" Louis sneers from beside him, camera focused intently on his clearly presumptuous expression.

He's going right for it and it's sort of great. No, it is great. Liam's absolutely loving this. 

"The truth about relationships, crushes, "love"." He quotes and Liam scowls.

Typical.

"Take marriage for example. S'all based off of public pressure, social status and sex." Zayn taps his finger along the table and Liam cringes at the way his eyes stare blankly into the camera.

(This dark gloom that hangs under his eyes. This 'up all night' sort of look Liam held plainly in secondary, back when he was a younger lad, too many late nights and strained eyes from video game screens. Little game boys and too many Batman marathons.)

It's like he's looking right at him, past him, into him and Liam can't ignore the chills that run up his spine at that.

"If it wasn't for sex, relationships, simplistically enough, wouldn't work." Zayn adds with a rap of his knuckles, a cheeky smirk that makes Liam swallow hard, a quick sliver of pink tongue past bleach white teeth and Liam's cock definitely may fatten up just a little at that.

But he can't- not here, not ever, really.

At least not while Zayn is  _Zayn_  and Liam's just a hopeless romantic with a tense, demanding job and too many opinions on true love to count.

"Oh, boo you. Sounds like no one's ever properly loved you." Louis sticks out a lip and Liam laughs into his redbull can. Absolutely brilliant.

Zayn stays quiet for a minute, seems to soak in Louis' words. The silence weeping like dreary flowers, dying off in early October and wilting, shriveling until-

"Well, while we're making observations, I might as well join the party, yeah?" Zayn recovers, tilts his head, turns his chair and stands to his feet rather abruptly.

"How about you two? You both portray this image of the perfect match when honestly, it's all based on a big, drawn out  _joke_." Zayn squeezes his eyes together humorously, his tone so smug, so evil like-

"Excuse me?" Harry turns himself and Liam sits bolt upright.

 _Oh god._  

He can spot where this is all headed, and he will not put up with it on  _his_  show. Not today. Not ever.

"Break f'r commercial." he orders, waits for the cut, the switch of screens but it doesn't come.

"Cut to fucking-"

"No, no. Keep it rolling." Christian orders and Liam's mouth falls open.

"What? No, it's  _my_  show." He argues, attempts to reach past his counter and to the control panel just a foot away. It's at his fingertips, there but not quite. 

"Not today it isn't. Sorry, mate." Christian nods off and Liam slumps back into his chair with an almost pout.

He won't let this imbecile on his TV screen win. Not this time.

"C'mon, Harry. It's so obvious you two aren't happy." Zayn leads on, "I dunno whether it's because you aren't being pleased enough, or whether it's the nagging that's really drawing it out of you, but man.." Zayn shakes his head, steps forward and places a firm hand on the back of Harry's chair, "it's sad, mate."

"I-" Harry gapes, but dreadfully enough, the plonker isn't quite finished.

"And you, Louis. I mean, s'no secret that you only snuck into bed with Harry here because of the almost confirmed salary raise." Zayn shifts the gears and Liam's mouth drops.

"Did he just-"

"I think he did." Christian laughs, spins around in his chair like a three year old at his mother's workplace for the first time. A certain 'yippee' dripping off of his lips that Liam clenches his jaw to. Fucking tosser.

"How dare you." Louis stutters, gulps as he turns to face the camera.

"I bet that makes ya' feel terrible, Harry. It has to, am I right?" Zayn continues on, a grin curling, beginning at the corner of his lips and curling all the way around.

"I mean, s'just- yeah, yeah it does." Harry mopes and Liam tugs at his hair, pulls at his roots because he's going to go out there himself if he can't take control now. It's driving him mad.

"And in tern, all 'f that irritation, screws with yer manhood, yeah?" Zayn asks and Harry nods.

"Oh, please," Louis nearly yelps.

"Yes, yes. Take control, Lou." Liam encourages, stands from his seat and steps forward.

"It isn't my fault he can't draw up n'erection every time m'in  _the mood_." Louis finishes and Liam's eyes widen.

"He jus' said erection on live television," Liam turns to face Christian, his fists balled at his sides as he struggles to not barge through the panel room door and ring Louis' neck.

"Oh, so what. Everyone does it, Liam." Christian waves him off and he sputters desperately.

_Holy fuck._

"And I mean, say you left him f'r it." Zayn draws up, "have you seen the available men in Birlingham, I mean-" He cuts off with a laugh.

"Switch to main cam three, his face s'as bright as a fuckin' tomatoe." Liam orders. And thankfully enough, his pleading is put through. 

"I have." Louis gulps.

"S'bad, innit?" Zayn wonders and even Harry nods his head at that one. 

"You're never going to get better than him. You've just gotta let 'im be a man, Lou. Just let him." He offers, begins to shove at the corner of Harry's chair, drawing him in, wheeling Louis closer and-  _oh no_.

"Yeah," Harry nods along, "yeah, let me be a man."

"They aren't going to-" Liam cranes his neck, extends one finger at the screen. Braces himself, brings his hand back to cover his eyes because he knows what's coming. And he nearly screams when Harry flings himself at Louis, plants sloppy kisses all along his mouth, jaw, neck and back again.

"Zoom in, zoom in!" Christian chants and Liam belows.

"Oi! Cut to commercial!" Liam yelps, frantic hand motions that he knows won't be any use, yet he's so desperate, so frantic. 

"London doesn't want t' see this!" He strangles out, pinches his eyes shut and runs a shaky hand up and through his hair. 

"And that," Zayn pauses with a devilish smirk, his eyes focused in on the camera straight ahead, "is the ugly, yet seemingly pleasing truth."

"Oh my god," Liam breathes out, slumps down along the counter and watches impotently as Zayn sways off of set, out of view, but not quite out of Liam's head.

(Not yet. But Liam will end this monstrosity one way or another, he's never been more sure.)

(Almost.)

 

**===**

 

The air is thick, smoky, this sort of London mid 80's feeling that lingers through the room. Long drawn out laughs from every corner of space pinching in on Liam's ears and he slumps back. Clinking glass and chipped, splintered wood underneath his fingernails from the rundown tabletop and lack of smoothing.

There's a slight buzz in his blood, a quick jolt every now and then. He blames the drinks. Two iced gingers all by himself, a tongue lap of bourbon (barely) and a cran-vodka because Louis insisted, Andy offered to buy, and Harry just promised to never snog Louis on live television again.

Ever.

"You look awfully fit tonight, Leeymo, fittin' for a good shag?" Louis croaks out, sloshes some cheap run-off of a margarita in a plastic cup between his fingertips.

Liam pinches his eyes together, battles out a sigh before shaking his head back and fourth.

He's exhausted, far too gone to even give anyone a second look and it isn't that he's been using that excuse for years now, (or maybe it's exactly that) he's just got his job.

He's an award winning news producer.

Will be, and he can drink to that one.

"Don't think anyone in here would fit Liam's list." Harry giggles, pushes his tongue along his lower lip and curls it all up into a grin.

"Why's that?" Andy asks between nippy sips, squinting like he always does when he catches the end of a conversation.

"Well-"

"Bug off." Liam begs, masks the tone with his "stage voice" because he can't sound desperate with Harry and Louis who live for cliché, high standard businessmen like Liam.

"Ya' don't know about Liam's little list?" Louis quirks a lip, tips his head back and smirks like a complete twat.

"It doesn't exist." Liam quickly blurts.

"Up there it does, pal. I see you." Louis laughs, raises a finger to point at Liam's head.

"You're indelicate." Liam mumbles, breaking his eye contact with the bastard because he can love Louis when he feels like it. Monday through Friday. He's got the weekend off.

"More or less." Louis grins with a meager shrug.

"My list is simple. You've gotta have pretty eyes and lips plump n'glossed enough to suck  _major_  dick." Harry says, shields himself from Louis and his wicked punch to the chest.

Liam wants to throttle them both.

"Lucky f'r you.: Louis spits at Harry, "Liam's just a bit picky, even turned down that lad from Patrick's chef department." He leans into Andy, lowers his voice like Liam can't hear him clear as day.

He isn't picky. He's simply determined and set on what he wants; who he wants. And the last thing he needs is an overly pretentious pastry chef with an odd obsession for speaking French in bed. An accent that haunted Liam for months on end.

Or a overly shy library goer with a fascination looking into bookbinding which really busted Liam's assabout an early retirement because  _what a major let down_. And he needed that. Needs that.

"M'not." Liam denies.

"Bullshit, prat. You rejected Josh, mate. Me old roommate." Louis reminds and Liam shivers.

"Still don't see what he could 'ave possibly done t'-"

"He asked me to give 'im a blowie in the bathroom our first date." Liam huffs out, keeps his breath, though. Only because he needs it in a smoky bar like this.

"He's still a sweetie, mate." Louis argues and Harry nods.

"What's wrong with a little first night out action? S'how I met Louis," Harry shrugs and Liam grimaces at that imagery.

"Seriously?" Andy perks his head up.

"No, knob, it was our second date. He took me out bowling the first night." Louis corrects and Andy draws a brow up.

"Bowling?"

"Bowling." Louis and Harry say in unison and Liam groans.

"Think ya' should jus' quit mopin' about it, mate." Andy slaps his glass down in front of Liam. The sound is dreadful and the force is so hard Liam swears he spies glass shards glide across the table.

"Would ya' watch it? Goddamn brute." Louis slaps his shoulder and Andy chuckles.

"S'broken anyway."

"Like Li's hopes and dreams?" Louis fires back with a laugh and Liam  _would_  hit him.

Would sock him right under his eye if they weren't running out of cover up and brush replacements back at the studio.

"Pin it." Liam mumbles, gazes around the crowded pub, every second gone by is another brutal attempt at a bar fight. And Liam's glad Louis picked a table in the back this week.

This same routine that's been keeping him somewhat sane for the past four years of his life. The same life, same schedule, misfortune after misfortune, a possible lucky break here and there but never anything more than a pint worth of celebration.

"Sorry, bro. Cheap shot, cheap shot." Louis pouts, adjusts his coat and fumbles with his zipper.

And Harry just shrugs when Liam looks over at him, knits his brows at him for giggling, "sorry, s'just comical."

"How exactly is it comical? It's your issue, too." Liam reminds, but Harry just shakes his head, tips his head back and wraps his lips around his bottle. A swish of beer in his cheeks before he speaks again.

"Nah, bro. If anything, the twit brought me and the spoiled princess closer." Harry nudges Liam's side. 

How fucking perfect-

"Oi, what the fuck?" Liam yelps, hits his back up against the booth rest and gives Louis a stern look.

"Sorry, thought you were Harry. I heard the name." He laughs into his cup, wiggles his brows and Liam grumbles. This whole night has been flashback after flashback to yesterday's major fuck up.

From spilling coffee on his lap to production mayhem live on his set. An out of control showing of 'Majorly Offensive Street Talk' with Zayn Malik and guest stars dumb and dumber.

"S'just overwhelming." Liam admits, takes in back in that second and hopes no one hears him because he refuses to admit someone as ill-advised as Zayn would cause him the least bit of stress, but-

"Goddamn, Liam."

Too late.

"I watched the show meself. Even checked the ratings afterwards, mate." Andy rambles, throws in a wink to some bimbo across the way, her hair dolled up into some frilly bun and lipstick the shade of fresh blood smeared across her lips. A dress Liam wouldn't even call a dress hanging high on her thighs.

"And that half-wit scored us major hits, dude." Harry chirps, fiddles with the straw to Louis' drink.

"I dunno." Liam runs a hand over his chin.

"Dunno about what? What t' order next? I have loads of recommendations." Louis finishes for him and Liam sighs.

"No, twat. I meant I don't know about _him_." He pauses, "what do we even know about him? He's all about sex, sex and more sex. And he's a terror when it comes to true love and-"

"That's a bad thing?" Louis snorts, taps his thumb along the splintered wood. 

"It's ridiculous, teenage like." Liam huffs. 

Louis goes quiet at that, blue eyes fit into a toll as he sips at his drink. Andy humming along to the tune playing through the speakers, some upbeat Kanye song Liam isn't too fond of. All while Harry just stares into space.

"Well, he fancies TV." Louis points out suddenly like it took him _that_  long to figure it out and Liam blinks dumbfoundedly.

"Really?"

"M'just playin', mate. God, you're so worrisome. Go down some gin." Louis curls his lip, swats Harry's hand away from his beverage, "steal some fr'm Christian or summat."

"Shuddup." Liam rolls his eyes, huffs out a small laugh because Louis is so unbelievably ridiculous in the most hysterical way.

"Well," Harry lifts a finger, a grin beginning to show off at the corner of his lips, halfway, then full round that gives Liam this feeling he doesn't have something good to say. He never usually does when he's wasted.

"Ya' don't have t' worry about what he's like for much longer, because he's right over there."

Liam spins around quickly, winces from the way his neck snaps just a small fraction of the way there, eyes wide and frantic as they search the space. His blood cold and search only interrupted when a cackle to his right sounds off obnoxiously. Like an alarm of 'Harry, Harry, Harry' ringing off in every direction.

"Liam,  _man_. You should've seen your face!" Harry doubles over, bites along his bottom lip with small sucked in breaths in between bellows.

"Fucking arse." He mumbles, waits for his heart rate to slow down before he slides out from the cushion. Wobbles in his feet as he gain balance. A right light weight he is. Drunk off of gin and cran-vodka and stress. 

"Oh, c'mon, bro. It was a joke." Louis pouts, but Liam just keeps walking- or shoving rather. All up until he emerges anywhere but where he was.

 

**===**

 

He isn't lost.

The pub is small, dimly lit and densely packed but Liam isn't  _that_  lad who gets lost in an unfamiliar pub at half past midnight with no mates in sight and a dead cell phone.

He also isn't that guy who is always left behind by his mates because he sort of did that all on his own. 

The bartender lingers over, shrugs simply when Liam asks for a cold tap water.

(Doesn't complain like he should when the older bloke slides him a poland springs bottle).

He thinks about halfway through his bottle, when the few seats next to him empty out, that he probably should have ordered something stronger. He's trapped, hopelessly trapped and he might as well drink to that because-

There's this thick, smoky laugh that echoes from nearby. Too nearby and Liam's blood runs cold, his lips quiver and he drops back in his seat, turns his head all too slowly.

"You amaze me more and more everyday, Leeyum." Zayn holds back another laugh, leans in on his elbow and wiggles his eyebrows dopily, "took you f'r more of a straight from the tap, earth's savior sort of bloke."

"It's the same thing." Liam's quick to argue, but he realizes who exactly he's chatting with, and when he takes another look at him, Zayn's grinning like the devil.

"You've got to be fucking-"

"Watch out, boss. Can't drop 'em like that. There could be camera's around." Zayn ties his words up into a smirk and Liam groans.

"What are you doing here?" Liam mutters, doesn't bother waiting for his bill because he may or may not have just witnessed the bartender slip out the back with a pack of fags and a half bottle of lemon peel gin. 

"Jus' t' grab like, a refresher," Zayn nods, swirls the mug in his hand around with a quick flick of his wrist, ice cubes knocking against glass, clinking, clinking. And Liam hopes his cheeks aren't warming up.

"Not everything's about you, mate." Zayn raises a brow, gulps down a large quantity of his beverage and sits the glass down on the counter top.

"I never said-"

"You didn't have to." Zayn finishes and Liam's eyes trace the floor boards, frowns at the mopy truth to his words.

"Well, I know it isn't. You're just-"

"Alluring?" Zayn chases a short lived laugh out and Liam grimaces.

"Not even close, more like-"

"Posh?" Zayn offers and Liam scoffs.

"More like putrid." Liam bites out and Zayn winces.

"Ouch," He tilts his head, hums along to the steady melody of ' _And we'll hate what we've lost but we'll love what we find._ ' Playing, warped, slowed down through the speakers above the dusty beams.

It's a few minutes of stuffy silence until he speaks again, "Not even like, as a mate?" Zayn keeps his voice steady, eyes the color of morning coffee that's too hot for Liam to sip during his week mornings. Creamer and all.

Liam purses his lips, hums along to the melody drifting around the air. Blurts out his answer in the heat of the moment because he's  _so_  fucking ace at that.

"Possibly, if you'd quit cutting me off and maybe lose the 'big man' ego and shit attitude." Liam bites, and he immediately hates himself for the way Zayn's looking at him.

"What?" He snorts and Zayn shakes his head, scratches a finger along his temple.

"Nothing, nothing."

"Just never thought you'd admit that easily t' havin' a crush on me, s'all." He adds on last minute and Liam scowls bitterly.

"I never admitted to anything," He denies, swallows hard like he's nervous over nothing. He didn't- didn't admit to anything, that is.

"Sure, sure." Zayn chases out a grin and Liam nods off.

"Typical." He murmurs, sits up from his seat and navigates himself away from the irritating lad with inky black hair and praised selfdom.

Obviously Zayn would think, well-  _that_.

He's an absolute arse and whether he work alongside with Liam or not, he isn't the type of bloke Liam would even think twice about even possibly-

Becoming 'mates' with, because that's all his mind will really allow him to think about for the moment being.

 

**===**

 

There's thissurge, boltof irritation in his blood afterwards. An emotion that creases the corner of his mouth flatly, locks his teeth together and has him wishing he could just fly away. 

The air is cool, a chilly breeze from up north, cramped England streets and flickering light posts, burnout after burnout. Bustled crowd, one after another shuffling along roughly plastered stone. A dreary sort of darkness blanketing the sky. A shield. A forcefield. 

Liam inhales the fresh scent of an evening rain still lingering wetly in the air. There's stale cigarette smoke, damp brick and some half price ginger cologne Liam swears is his but-

"I could drive." Zayn offers, shuffles closer and plants himself right beside Liam. Sways along the edge of the walkway and Liam gawks at him as he watches his fingers curl around a package of Marlboros.

It's a distant memory, a bubble of smoke Liam grew up living in. His grandfather's office, peeking at guns and fiddling with his coin collection.

Zayn's fingers are nimble, careful as they fiddle with the thinly packed paper, a quick strike, flicker of a lighter later and Liam is already choking on the drift of cloudy smoke.

Zayn's hand trembles as he takes in a shaky drag, exhales steadily but rolls back on the balls of his feet.

"Not a chance." Liam declines, stuffs his hands into his pockets and waits for his cab to arrive. It's past overdue, late. Or at least it feels that way with Zayn coughing, sputtering beside him  _the fucking prat._  

"S'cool." Zayn hums, and Liam stays silent. Partly because he doesn't know what to say, (he never quite does) but mostly because of the stupendous hatred he has boiling under his overcoat, through his undershirt and buried dead center in his chest.

He turns his head, only because it's silent and maybe he's alone but-

A pink tongue sneaks out, runs over sugary, dry lips and retreats all in one swift motion.

Unfortunately enough he isn't. Not yet.

"Y'know, my place isn't too far n'we could.." Zayn trails off, takes another quick puff from his cigarette.

"You're mental," Liam shakes his head, "bitterly sick if you think I'd ever-"

"Hang out with me? Chat me up about s'me set ideas?" Zayn finishes for him and Liam can feel that familiar heat spreading across his cheeks, catching his skin like wildfire.

Right.

"Yeah."

"So, you'll join me?" Zayn wonders.

"I'd much rather smash me head against a wall." Liam says cooly, wrinkles his nose at the cloud of smoke blown his way.

"Bitter," Zayn knits his brows together, eases his posture and kicks his Allsaints along the damp concrete.

"More like careful. You're bothersome." Liam huffs, sticks out an arm as he spots his cab.

"Seriously? I think we could make proper mates, workin' together n'd all." Zayn shrugs leisurely, tips his head back and keeps his eyes focused in on Liam.

It's a unique perch he holds, a slumped back, curved lips and it's- It's  _unsettling_.

"You're mad." Liam accuses, holds down the ' _just short of psychotic_ ' bubbling in his throat.

"Suit yourself." Zayn calls from behind him, a subtle chuckle as Liam groans, shoulders past him to climb into his taxi.

And he only glances over once. Before he tips off the driver and after he slams his door shut. Watches with a discreet gaze as Zayn leans himself against the light pole, brings the paper to his lips, glowing ash blurry as it stains Liam's vision. Follows him all the the way through town and up past the walkway to his front door, where the image fades, drifts away and is replaced by pink lips and a scratchy laugh that Liam entirely, fully hates.

Hates how he almost sort of likes it.

(Almost.)

 

**===**

 

The sun's early, peeking up over the trees across the street. It's a park, a dark one until amber rays shine brightly over and through the leaves. This light pink that mixes in with the orange settling low on the horizon. There's a breeze, ruffling green and yellow and twisting branches like candy licorice.

Liam sighs happily, curls his lip around his mug and sips along the warm tea inside. 

Loki's spread out sleepily on the couch, a slight twitch in his paw every few minutes. A sort of dog dream Liam laughs lowly at because it's sort of comical.

He loves morning's like these. The ones that are calm, low-key. The ones where his mobile's out of juice and the tube hasn't even left the station yet, no noise, no car horns or bicycle rings, just silence.

Early awakenings because those are the best when they're  _optional_. Fresh nerves, a new set that Liam's so glad he has. A flip of his wits because they need a good tossing every now and then.

Loki whines from his spot on the couch, tilts his head back and stretches over the pillows.

"Morning, boy." Liam reaches down, runs a finger down Loki's back.

The pup rolls over, buries his face into the cushions and stays still, finally.

Liam smiles, scratches along his lower stomach and the thick trail of hair winding down, down. He presses his lips together, pushes away the small desire growing at the bottom of his spine to wank off because he's got other things on his mind.

He backs away, watches Loki from the hallway as he pads along cold hardwood.

His kitchen is small, comfortingly small, white tiles spotted with a few blue here and there, done just precisely, not sloppily or crookedly. His cabinets matching his floor, blue, white, blue. A flower pot in the center of his island, some indigo spiraled flower the florist recommended. And he thinks it may be his second favorite room in his flat besides his bedroom.

There's a knock a thump at his door and he jumps lightly because it can't be after seven already. The morning times is always late on Sunday's, lads fresh, ready to move onto sixth form and desperate for any shred of work. A paper boy.

Or at least that's what Liam blames the late delivery on. Rookie lads who are still dreary with sleep and possibly a bit of a hangover from Sally's down the block. 

Liam yawns, startles Loki and saunters over towards the front door, eyes barely open because his tea isn't working too well for him this morning like it usually does.

The morning air is cool, a breeze that makes the leaves on either side of Liam's shrubs itch, flutter lively like in the wind.

Liam runs a hand over his jaw, bends down swiftly, scoops up the newspaper and twists the elastic band holding it all together. He thinks about flinging it, tossing it across the pathway like he usually does but he stops short because-

Well-

_Wow._

He's fit.

Incredibly fit and Liam's mouth retracts, his tongue sucks back into his throat, his heart thumping at an incredible speed inside of his chest. His blood feels like lightning and his eyes stay peeled, open, as well as his mouth because he's so  _not_  ace at secretively watching someone. Spying.

(Like playdates with Andy and a few other lads who used to live on his street back in Wolvy. A cape made out of dishtowels, ones too big that could stretch down to Liam's lower back, the dip in his spine-

-Hiding in his mum's garden and spying on Mrs. Averill while she chatted up the milk boy.)

A very fit, shirtless someone with too many boxes to carry on his own and a pair of grey joggers low on his waist. Just like Liam, just like-

His hair is this shade, mix of dirty blonde. Messy roots a slim dark, a shade of brown Liam can pin to the bark of a willow tree down the lane. Tongue stuck past his teeth, hands grasped to the corners of cardboard, a truck a few yards back with a good dozen packages left inside.

He doesn't mean to gape, Liam's always great about self control and just control in general because his job is just that, but he can't really take his eyes away.

It's a quick blur suddenly beneath his feet, and he almost misses it, almost. But he's too slow to grab at him, the fucking ball of energy and Liam curses at him as he pounces by. 

Loki.

He bolts out the door, scampers along the stone path leading to Liam's door, past the center fountain and over to the bloke with a drool-worthy stomach and breath hitching arms.

Liam holds the ' _fucking hell_ ' he wants to blurt down, held under his tongue as he steps down, bare feet curling into the grass as he braces himself.

Loki is yipping happily at the lads feet and Liam can't really seem more awkward because this is so odd. Like,  _get control of your goddamn dog, Liam Payne._

"Sick pup." The lad grins, extends a hand down and allows Loki to nip at his palm.

"I've always wanted one, like huski n'd all." He adds, lifts his chin, eyes blue as the Lithodora's Liam's mum used to plant in the Springs. Lips so plump, a tongue pink as cotton candy as it runs along roughy, spitting out words that are twisted into some odd accent.Not entirely odd, just different. 

Irish if Liam had to guess.

"M'Niall." He extends a hand, holds onto his grin and Liam ignores the shiver that runs up his spine.

"Liam." He smiles, holds out his palm and sucks in a breath when Niall firmly grasps his hand.

It feels good, normal, like he's just made a proper mate only Liam's blood is sparking like fireworks and he doesn't know why. Well, he does, but-

"Jus' moving in?" He goes out on a limb, bites along his lower lip, hates the way he probably looks so out of shape, so incredibly daft in these torn up sweats and an out of control pup at his feet.

"Yeah, s'what the boxes are f'r." Niall nods, and Liam blushes like a fucking dolt.

A fucking teenager with a massive crush and too much dopamine to handle striking through his blood.

"Right, yeah, s'what I meant." He recovers, almost.

He's this super nova of nervous shock, electricity left and right, up and down.

"Yeah, I know." Niall bites at a grin and Liam feels this wave of relief wash over him. This feeling that washes through his veins like wildfire. A good kind if that makes any sense at all.

Liam presses his lips together, his eyes wander to the boxes and he reads along the label on a large package, odd shape but- ' _Medical_.'

"Doctor?" Liam wonders, scolds himself mentally for being so forward.

 _Award winning chat-it-up man._  

"No, m'more of an orthopedic doctor." Niall replies, "a foot, leg doctor. S'my specialty." He grins widely and Liam's heart flutters.

"Really? That's cool." He snorts, "in a doctor sort of way, I dunno, I just-"

Niall laughs, a laugh that catches Liam's attention. Draws his eyes up, has him shifting under the cackle that's just-

"I know what ye meant, mate. S'cool."

"Cool." Liam follows up, rocks back on his heels.

Loki's still circling Niall like a shark, a wagging tail and a happy yip here and there.

"Reckon I should get meself one, your's seems to take an interest in me, eh?" Niall laughs, this low chuckle from deep in his throat that makes Liam's limbs vibrate.

This slight pulse to his cock when Niall licks a long stripe up past his bottom lip, all the way through and to his top. This sugary pink that makes Liam swoon.

"Yeah, they're good fun, busy work, tough sometime, but-"

"Sick in the long run?" Niall finishes and Liam nods, adjusting himself.

"Yeah, that."

"Well, Liam. I'd be up for dog-sitting if you're ever out, right? Everyone needs a dog-sitter." Niall shrugs, holds his palm down for Loki to examine.

"He doesn't usually fancy company, b'sides me of course." Liam mumbles under his breath.

"Well, just f'r like, f'r emergencies. He seems to be into me." Niall tilts a shoulder and Liam fiddles with the elastic around his newspaper again. A distraction so he doesn't moan into his next sentence.

"Oh, 'course. He does seem a bit n'love," Liam nods along, holds back the smirk. threatening to break past his lips.

"So-" Niall stuffs his hands into his pockets, pulls out a pen with a small giggle because that's  _so_  clichè.

"Had t' like- sign off the lads." He explains and Liam nods. Right.

He snatches up the newspaper, flashes Liam nother quick grin before signing off 9 sloppy digits in the corner.

"Just f'r emergencies. Plus," Niall reaches down, grabs a smaller box than he held before, a grin attached because he just loves making Liam's knees weak.

"I've been told m'rather good with animals." He finishes, turns away from Liam to start up his stairs.

"See ya, Liam." Niall hollers back, not too loudly, not too softly.

His tone is perfect, his body is perfect, his personality seems perfect and he's just-

Well, whatever he is, Loki seems to agree, and that's enough.

Liam smiles, a blush on his cheeks as he turns, stumbles over his feet all the way along his stone path. Mumbles Niall's name under his tongue just because he likes the way it sounds, likes the way it tastes so sweet. Citrus tangerine and early morning meetings with new neighbors and god-

Liam likes Sunday mornings just a tad bit more now, he's sure.

 

**===**

 

He inhales deeply, brings the brim of his can to his lips and observes the open set. The stage is open, a large space that could fit a few hundred people and perhaps a few elephants. The 'Good morning Birmingham' counter is wheeled off to the side while the carpenters work with the creaky floorboards.

It's a daft issue. Worthless because the mics can barely pick up Harry whenever he speaks let alone a creaky floorboard.

Liam tilts back on his heels, sloshes the fizzy liquid around in his cheeks and swallows with an  _almost_ gag. He peeks around and makes a mental note to never gargle any sort of energy drink again because that could end up absolutely _dreadful_.

"It smells beautiful."

It's this sudden echo booming toward Liam's ears. The voice cuts off his beam of concentration (not like he really had one in the first place, but), he tilts his head, purses together his lips when he spots Zayn. Pampered, eyes bright and grin crooked as he listens in to hear something Lou is whispering against his ear. 

And Liam hopes to god it's something along the lines of; "If you mess up, I'll be shaving your head bald and trashing your whole wardrobe."

Unfortunately enough, Liam's lips part in a sigh when Zayn cackles out.

It's a quick decision. Not like it matters in the least because this is  _Liam's_  show, but he strides confidently towards the bastard. Huffs and gives Lou a look when he meets the spot beside Zayn's chair. She catches his off-putting look and throws in a cheeky smile, a whip of her head, a blur of blonde before scurrying past him and away, away, away.  All the way down past the technical set up and the panel room door.

"Bye, Louise!" Zayn calls out, keeps a steady eye on her until she's clear out of sight.

"Zayn." Liam huffs, taps his foot along the tiled floor impatiently.

"Liam, my  _favorite_. What c'n I do for ya'?" Zayn swipes his tongue over his bottom lip. This curve of a grin beginning to peak at the corners of his mouth.

"Although if you're askin' me t' blow you, I'll keep some of my pride and wave you off until after work." Zayn snorts and Liam ignores the sentence altogether, ignores the shiver that radiates up his spine at the words 'main man' and the way they sound sliding off of Zayn's tongue.

"Not even close, I need you to-"

"Get you some NyQuil, god, mate, you look pissed, red cheeks n'd shit." Zayn cuts off with a chuckle and Liam swallows all of the hateful words he wants to spill out.

"Look. I need you to keep it clean, keep it moving, stick to the script and most importantly-"

"Don't whip me cock out on live television? Right." Zayn laughs, tucks his tongue between his teeth and tilts his head back. The cushion of his chair catching his head barely. The daft piece of furniture even has his goddamn name printed onto the back and Liam finds that absolutely revolting.

(Not in that jealous 'where the hell is my chair, Christian?' fit he almost explodes over. It's just because it's Zayn.)

"No- well, yes  _that_. God. But I need you to  _not_  be a complete toss-off about this. We're running a business." Liam nearly growls, hates himself for picturing the ungodly image of Zayn without clothes on.

Although it's sort of arousing and Liam gulps in surprise when his cock begins to swell, thicken in his trousers. So he adjusts the waistline of his business slacks and coughs once and prays that his cheeks aren't as red as they feel. Like the burner on his stove for nights when he isn't heating up some grotesque microwave meal. 

"So you'd like me to not get you hits, is that what you're asking me, Leeyum?" Zayn drags out and Liam sighs desperately.

"No, I need you to be somewhat appropriate because if everything goes mental in here, we're both fucked." Liam tunes his voice down, "and we don't want to be fucked, Zayn." He adds on quickly.

But, wait, maybe that wasn't such a good idea because-

"Some of us do." Zayn wiggles his eyebrows and Liam scoffs loudly. Fucking brilliant.

"And you're wearing this." Liam digs around in his pocket, pinches the earpiece in between his fingers and holds it out for Zayn to take. He obliges surprisingly and pops the earpiece in without word.

"You are to listen to my voice and follow what I say, this isn't a joke this is a-"

"Business. I gotcha'" Zayn nods, fiddles with his sleeve collar and gives Liam one of his all too familiar grins.

"I'm serious. When you hear my voice, you listen and you do what I say." Liam keeps his expression. Holds it until Zayn pulls his top lip down under his bottom.

"Promise you'll talk dirty?" He laughs and Liam rolls his eyes, scowls all the way into his next sentence.

"Take off that tie and get ready. You're on in five." Liam rushes out as he turns on his heel, trips up a bit and leaves Zayn behind. As well as the ghastly cologne Lou's doused him in and his beyond sick way of talking or simply chatting up.

(Hopefully leaves behind the maybe-sort-of-desire to hear more of it.)

 

**===**

 

"The mics are working, the counter is in place, and we've even got a new backdrop that I know you'll fall absolutely in love with." Christian nods off, runs a few fingers under his chin, scratches along the thin stubble that's grown in place.

Liam parts his lips to speak but Christian beats him to it and he sighs. "Also, yes, we have adjusted the script, but nothing major, just a few cut Louis jokes because they didn't fit."

"And the lighting on center stage is-"

"Magnificent." Christian finishes for him and Liam takes in a deep breath because he deserves one. Deserves a fresh breath of air that isn't honeysuckle and something like ginger invading his senses, setting up camp and taking over. A toxic fragrance. 

"Right, then we're on." Liam slides into his chair, pinches a finger between his collar and his neck, wraps it around to ease the suffocating pressure.

The main screens boot up, left, right, center and top. All different angles situated, fixed in on Louis, Harry and...

"Where is he." Liam sits bolt upright.

"Not there." Christian mumbles from beside him and Liam snorts.

"Really?"

Christian shrugs, slumps back into his seat and leaves Liam to all the dirty work. Because that's what he does; what he's best at.

Liam fumbles with his microphone, flicks the tip and waits for a response. Eyes frantic as they search the screens across the panel room wall.

"Zayn, so help me god-"

It's this faint whisper, a plea of some sorts because Liam can barley make out the words but they sound a lot like-

"We aren't supposed to be back here, we'll be sacked and I need the money for me rent."

Liam shutters, whether it be with anger or frustration, he can't really pinpoint. He isn't sure whether to shut it all down or power through it.

"Cam 7 is acting up." Christian nudges Liam and he turns, ends his mini-episode before it can begin and sits back into his chair. He feels helpless, impotent, like he doesn't have any power over his production anymore. Like he never had it to begin with.

There's this flicker of something to his left, this little light on camera 7's screen that catches his attention and he stares at it. Waits for Zayn's cocky, smug-like grin to pixelate across the screen and ruin him.

And it comes. All too sweetly, in fact.

"Hello, Birmingham, I'm Zayn Malik and this is the Ugly Truth." Zayn beams, tucks a smile away and motions for the cameraman to follow him forwards.

"He couldn't have-" Liam cuts off. His mouth is cotton dry and all he can do is stare. Stare blankly into this maddening abyss that is a sure virus taking up his screen.

"Where we discuss the many comical differences and relations to women, men and love." Zayn says, turning back towards the camera every now and then because the microphone is fucking up and he seems to notice. God forbid he won't answer Liam on his own, but, well. 

Typical. 

"And let's face it, London. Who doesn't completely  _adore_  a good comedy." Zayn bites off with a chuckle, pokes a finger out and onto the lense.

(An action that has Liam cringing because it's  _Zayn_  fumbling with highly expensive technical equipment and- oh god he feels sick.)

"Dear god." Liam sinks down, deflates into the lumpy leather beneath his bottom. This monstrosity on his screen is only weakening his patience. And it doesn't help that seemingly every move this mad man makes, has him up a few hundred ratings every time he checks the reviews. It's almost like his world has just suffered from this massive earthquake and the general population is oddly ecstatic about it all. 

"So, I thought I'd take you all out on a little-" Zayn cuts off, motions for the unsure cameraman to follow him out a open doorway.

"Date." He finishes and Liam gulps.

"He's going to run out of cable and the connection will bust and-"

"Liam, mate, calm down. We've got it covered." Christian speaks up and Liam spins in his chair, lifts a brow because-

"You knew about this?" Liam outstretches a finger, points to the screen to his far left. Certainly not the one right beside that one. Camera 6, 5, or 4 with Louis and Harry and Caroline from wardrobe. All three of them with questionable expressions plastered to their faces, lips moving, drabbling with no sound and not the slightest idea of what's going on.

"Well- er, yes. But it's for the best." Christian shrugs casually, has the words roll off of his tongue like they're easy. Like Liam should take them softly.

"For the best." Liam repeats, detests the way the words sound in his mouth, circling his head afterwards because they're just so true.

"Now, now. Before I lose you, I'd like to share with you an expectation that most have for a first date." Zayn chirps, his voice echoing throughout the panelling room. Like madness that's taken over Liam's thought process, hijacked his morality and taken everything he believes in hostage in some corner of his currently deluded mind.

The image on the screen is new. It's stage 5, Liam can tell because there isn't proper lighting and there's still a dent in the wall from when Louis ended up trying too many of Patrick's ' _I swear to god there's no alcohol in these_ ' jello cups.

There was alcohol in them.

"Candle lit dinner, the moon's beginning to surface in the sky, tenderly baked beef wellington and green beans on the side." Zayn ends with a giggle, like this is so comical when really this is Liam's idea of the perfect date. The perfect night out with his Mr. Perfect, coated along with his perfect smile and his more than perfect words.

It's a sort of reminder, a brutal image that reminds Liam of a long time ago. A time where he wasn't this senseless mass of ' _god, help me_ ' or the massive cloud that seems to suffocate him every waking moment of his not-so-perfect life.

Or his job, because that's a more elementary way of putting it.

"Fancy, innit?" Zayn says suddenly and Liam locks his chin, lifts his head to stare.

This white draped over table with two candle, two plates, two sets of silverware and two fancy dressed up mannequins on either side of each other. A backdrop to top it all off with some cheesy Google image of the Eiffel Tower.

"You've got to be kidding." Liam mutters under his breath, leans over and brings the microphone to his lips.

"You're ruining my life." He mumbles hopelessly into the receiver and scoffs when Zayn's smile burns through the left screen.

"Unfortunate," he says, turns his attention back to the table.

"That it all won't last, I mean." He adds in and Liam forgets for a mere second that they are actually broadcasting live all over Birmingham.

"All of this bullshit. S'a proper joke." Zayn snorts and Liam scowls into a cough.

"If you want a memorable date- follow me," He motions towards the camera and Liam places his forefinger and thumb on either side of his nose, applies pressure to calm his murderous thoughts and to hopefully focus out of  _this_. This helpless feeling he's become acquainted with over the past few weeks.

The camera shifts, stumbles along after Zayn and out into another room. It's dark, shit lighting and complete and utter silence until it's not.

"This!" Zayn yelps out of the darkness and Liam squints, leans forward because he can't quite-

_Oh._

_Oh no._

The lights flicker on suddenly and he's momentarily blinded by the shine. He comes down, his eyes adjust and he gasps at the screen.

There's a platform, the other side of the stage, clearly. But there's more, a mattress, a duvet, even a few pillows and- oh god.

"This is a real date." Zayn says, scratching along his chin with his free hand and pointing with his other.

Liam scoots forward, groans out when he spots the couple of actors under the duvet. They aren't in proper camera view but they're there. The blankets are shifting, lifting and falling, lifting and falling. A creaky bed frame to top it all off and Liam's red in the cheeks.

"Unbelievable." He chews at the inside of his cheek.

"This guy is brilliant!" Christian yelps, stands to his feet and earns a few opinions of approval.

All while Liam sulks, bows his head because he's been rather ace at that lately.

"A date t' remember, because sex is what ties it all in. What really brings a couple together. There is no such thing as romance or poetry loving saps that all of you desperate housewives are searching for." Zayn rambles on and Liam shakes his head, ignores the sting in his chest, keeps silent but listens intently because-  _god, what a fucking asshole._

"And considering this is all just temporary anyway, you might as well score big because true love is merely a dream." Zayn shakes his head.

"Or a nightmare, depends on how ya' look at it." He chuckles and Liam runs a hand through his hair. Justa nother mess he needs to tend to.

"Alright, if we're going to do this, we might as well milk it." He rolls forward, "get ready to go wide, and adjust volumes one and six." Liam chases out, reaches forward to grasp his microphone before he can think.

"Hop in bed with them." Liam channels through, waits for Zayn's expression to change and, well, it does.

"Just do it." He adds in with a huff and breathes out steadily when Zayn shrugs, hops up onto the stage and climbs ontop of the duvet. Needy hands and to messy haired heads pop up, pull him backwards and just like that Liam's gone and filmed his first live porn film.

Brilliant.

"Like I said-" Zayn cuts off between a laugh, sits up once only to be brought back down again by whoever he paid to muck about in the bed because Liam will have his head if he used the studios money-

"-A date to remember. See you next time." He gasps out, falls backwards just as the camera connection drops and the screen turns over black.

Liam sighs, lets the microphone fall from his grasp and sits himself back down. Back into the lumpy leather of his chair, back into this hopeless ending of a dream he thought he may possibly have had some control over.

Turns out it's a nightmare. A raven haired, caramel eyed, prejudice nightmare.

 

**===**

 

"Uh oh, look at that, would'ya." Louis sneers, kicks his feet up on Liam's desk with a pop to his cherry lolly a few hours later.

Or if he's being exact, two hours and twenty three minutes since Zayn completely rid himself of a script and guidelines and stole Liam's show with a wink, a dinner table sugar coated with plastic fruit and two actors buried under a duvet. 

Liam groans, buries his blush into his palms, slips the shred of newspaper he's been holding onto for over 24 hours into his pocket. It's just a reminder. A good one for once. And Liam sort of likes the way the paper feels along his skin. It's daft, really. But he thinks of Niall every time the thin material comes into view or when it scratches at his thumb, pinky, even ring finger...

"I think..." Louis trails off, waves his pointer back and forth, "and correct me if m'wrong, Li." He smirks, deviosuly. 

Liam raises his head, lifts his chin and keeps steady eyes on Emma. She's lost in her own little world, glasses on and fingers pressed against a pencil, a furious jerk here and there because Liam knows she goes haywire when signing her 'y's'.

She lifts her head, blinks once, twice, see's that Louis is talking and focuses in back on her paperwork. It's a scene Liam can't be bothered to  _not_  laugh at. 

"I think our little Leeymo's in love." Louis bites off, strips his tongue along the sugar on a stick and brings it all back around into a devilish grin.

He's like an overly obnoxious five year old. High off of candy and tarts from the bakery downtown. Too cool for sketchers but a complete walking advertisement when it comes to Abercrombie. 

"M'not." Liam denies, tucks away his smile when Emma's head shoots up, a hopeful grin on her lips like this is the best news since the new ratings.

The ratings Liam blames on pure luck because there's  _no_  way Zayn could have-

"What?" She bites at her pencil, tucks her folder under her chair and sits back.

"No, I am not-"

"In love?" She squeals, breaks her barrier and stands bolt upright.

"S'obvious, Lima bean, look at yourself." Louis waves a hand, "you're glowing, you're wearing an actual tie, not the cheap clip on's from Moss bros' and you're fucking swooning, mate." Louis tips his head, giggles around his pop and leaves the rest up to Emma.

"Liam, my god, darling, it took you long enough," she bites at a smile and Liam snorts.

"Who is he?" Emma and Louis both say in unison and Liam groans because this isn't- it isn't like that.

"Or-" Louis' eyes widen, "she? Didn't think you were into birds much, Li." He raps his knuckles along the chair's arms.

"No, s'nothing,  _he's_  just me new neighbor, s'all." Liam says, can't help the way his cheeks fall hot and pink under mention, the way his lips feel plump from pressure, (he'll break the habit sooner or later) and hands sweaty from anticipation.

"At least infatuated?" Emma wonders, bows her head like the answer is all she needs to get by.

Liam pauses, holds in his breath until his face feels purple and lets a rushed " _maybejustalittlebit_ " roll off of his tongue.

"Knew it!" Louis claps his hands together and Emma beams, a proud smile forms along her crimson colored lips and she winks.

"That's enough f'r me, and I know you don't want to hear it in specifics, Liam, but m'telling you-" Emma begins to drone. 

"A chance is as good as gone if you don't take the chance to chance it." Liam cuts her off, leaves her lips in some awkward twist, a glint in her eye of something believing. Faith possibly.

"Exactly." She runs a thumb under her lip.

"Bullshit to the saying, mate. Just shag im' if he's proper fit." Louis winks and Emma leans over and swats at his shoulder.

"Hush, you!" She scolds, draws her eyebrows together as Liam laughs. 

They're both polar opposites, an angel sent from above and the devil himself. Two maddening friends Liam couldn't possibly live without because they're his pause button when things get a little too speedy.

 

**===**

 

There's this simmer of happiness in Liam's heart after they both leave, this little flicker of ' _god, life is sort of cool right now_ ' lighting up in his brain, an electrowave of pure bliss, contentment, prosperity.

He's even got a pretty decent mood after Louis knocked his coffee over, swore he would clean it, then continued to muck about with Liam's Wolverine figurine until it was time for him to shuffle off to set, the unbelievable prat.

(But it all turned out just ace because Liam has Emma, and together they cleaned up the mess with small talk, topic swinging from around the weekend, the upcoming events and right around to, well,  _him_.)

Or Niall because Liam doesn't have time for  _mysterious_. Not when he's a-

"Award winning news producer, got s'me time on your hands?"

It's Zayn, obviously. This brilliant scruff to his words, his voice a lighter rap of hoarse, a rough crack towards the end of his sentence. This indescribable linger that Liam knows isn't physically there, but he feels in his blood.

"Are you suffering from internal or external bleeding?" Liam wonders, doesn't bother looking up because half of Zayn's persuasion skill comes from his looks.

Eyes like soggy driftwood and lips as sweet and soft as cotton candy and silk pillows.

"Nah, mate, but-"

"Then no." Liam cuts him off, smiles to himself as he ducks his head to shred another paper.

His office is looking a lot more tip-top, less clutter, more room for paperwork like he's actually taking that thought into consideration.

Truthfully, he's only cleaning because he fancies a clean space. It's appealing, refreshing, spacious. This breath of fresh air when everything else outside of his 6 by 6 foot room is an utter disaster. He's got his little shelter to hide away and work on- (not losing his fucking mind) paperwork. What else.

"C'mon, Leeyum." Zayn drags out, leans his back against the doorframe and tilts his neck to the side.

And Liam hates himself for looking up, dragging his eyes from a letter of "importance" from the cabel-access show on channel 9, a giddy 'fuck you, we're beating your ass!' Liam's sure he will end up shredding later on because- they  _thought_.

"What is it." He sighs, flicks the switch on his shredder that makes a god-awful sound.

"Wanted to review my script with ya'." He grins, steps forward and slips cozily into one of Liam's chairs.

Liam breathes, keeps the 'god save me' stuck like cement against his tongue.

He's almost certain this is just a ploy so Zayn can sneak some gasoline into Liam's redbull when he isn't looking, or rip the head off of his ten pound Wolverine figure that Louis nearly bloke his last visit and-

"What's this?" Zayn asks, and it takes Liam a minute to realize what he's talking about.

His fingers curve around a petitley folded piece of paper, a  _newspaper_  article about a fire right off of Marshall street and-

"Give me that," Liam clenches his jaw, jets a hand out only for Zayn to shove backwards, up and onto his feet. He shuffles and nearly trips but makes a recovery, paper pinned between his fingertips. 

"S'this what I think it is? Fucking gold." Zayn laughs, scans over the scribbled mess that is Niall's handwriting.

"A number? Like a- ah, your invisible boyfriend got a new mobile, did he?" Zayn asks, curls his tongue up to the roof of his mouth and wrinkles his eyes with a grin.

"No, would you jus'-"

"Call the number?" Zayn offers.

"No,  _my god_ , just give it back." Liam pleads. He hates this, hates Zayn because this is  _not_ professional. This is like a highschool telephone swipe and it isn't the least bit amusing.

"Or you're fired." Liam adds in quickly, partly regrets it halfway through because he  _can't_  make that decision.

Zayn hands over the paper with one final laugh, this cackle that echoes around Liam's office, bounces off and around the walls.

"Fire me? That's almost as gold as the number." He laughs, bites along his cheek to keep his bellow at a minimum.

And he stops altogether when he meets Liam's gaze. Like this pleading expression stuck to his face is enough to actually draw peace. This pathetic 'please, give me a break' sort of mask Liam's designed specially enough for Zayn.

"Fine, but you are." He quirks a smile, taps his forefinger along Liam's office phone and bites at his lip. 

It's just to hold back another laugh, Liam knows but- the way his teeth graze over the puff of his bottom lip, the way the tissue sinks beneath his pearly ivories. This puffing, swelling of his cheeks like he's taken in too much novacaine at the dentists, too much nicotine in one of his obnoxious drags, late night London and dreary, puffy skies. Everything gloomy in the world with that one pinch of sunshine. 

"No, why would I just-"

"Because," Zayn cuts Liam off, shrugs like it's common and raises a brow, "you fancy the bloke."

"How did you-"

"S'in your cheeks, mate." Zayn bites his tongue between his teeth, gnaws softly at it and tucks it away and out of view.

"Well." Liam fiddles with the paper between his fingers.

It can't be that obvious. It's like everyone he's spoken to today can tell somethings different and that's more than irritating because if he looks the least bit fluffy, no one will take him seriously.

And it isn't like he needs to act all tough, this is his show, his production line, his work and his employee's. Not Christian who likes to play drunk and rummage through the studio, barking out orders and throwing in new show ideas (like Zayn) in every few months.

It's just he doesn't need this. Or Zayn because he's a right menace when Liam's in the most vulnerable of estates.

"Is he into poetry, or- oh, s'he polite and considerate and does he have 'kiss me I'm a vegetarian' printed to his cooking apron f'r when he makes a buckwheat roast?" Zayn chases out a laugh and Liam scowls.

"No, actually he's a doctor." Liam lifts his chin, hopes that one will knock Zayn right off his arse.

But predictably enough, he laughs, leans back and bellows for a good few seconds.

"Lemme guess, he's a veterinarian." Zayn giggles and Liam rolls his eyes.

"Pin it." He huffs, knits his brows and waits for this hell to end.

He doesn't need this. Zayn is an uber narcissists with bullshit beliefs and an end goal that holds nothing more but driving Liam mental. That and knocking his fist against their dividing wall every few minutes just to irritate and remind Liam that,  _'yes, I'm still here.'_

He may truly be relentless, and Liam doesn't know how to feel about that.

"How about I help ya' out." Zayn slumps back into the chair, "lad to lad. A deal."

Liam's skeptical, uneasy about the idea of help from anyone in general little alone Zayn Malik. News crumbling bulldozer, he is.

"How could you possibly manage?" Liam sighs into a mid-way groan. This is a complete waste of his time, he can already feel it.

"S'like a win/win. If I help you get your little crush to, persay-"

"Fall in love with me?" Liam offers and Zayn scowls.

"No, you prat. Have you not seen my show?" He gawks and Liam nearly winces at the memory.

"Right."

"I was going t' say, like, date you, through all of the things that draw in a typical cliché relationship. The physical attractions." Zayn nods, "because you know as well as I do, we can make this show big. Like broadway only not as sappy." He finishes, hovers a finger over his arm, traces over inky blots. Tattoo after tattoo, twisting up his arm like graffiti, an art, an eyecatcher for sure because Liam can't look away.

He's momentarily caught up in them, the pattern on Zayn's left hand, the web-like lines and the twisted designs across his skin. The large 'Zap' on his right arm, a dove of some sorts right below, an almost predictable 'chillin'" inked out above and to the left. Copious amounts of ink all up and down his arm.

"Interested?" Zayn hums and Liam jolts out of his head.

"Oh, m'yeah." He mumbles, nods with a wandering hand to the nape of his neck.

"Call 'im, then."

"What?" Liam sputters, wide eyes and all as Zayn laughs lowly.

"You said you'd call 'im and I'd help you through it." He lifts a brow, this goofy gesture that has Liam biting back a laugh. 

"No, you're insane. You work for me and I want nothing more than peace right now. I've got shit to do and you're mucking about rather rudely." Liam huffs.

"My god, Liam, if you don't get it good with this guy, because 'f me, then I'll leave your show." Zayn shrugs so nonchalantly, so simply that Liam's dazed for a second. Stuck in the clouds because Zayn couldn't have just proposed that- no.

"You'd what?" He leans in, interested, no-  _really fucking interested._

"Leave." Zayn pushes out slowly and it's like it's raining pounds, coin upon coin cluttering all of Liam's desk, truthfully it all sounds (like a load of bullshit) brilliant, but it doesn't add up and Liam's thinking maybe a bit too hard when he lifts his head.

"You're really that confident?" He wonders.

"It's ringing." Zayn holds the phone up and Liam's mouth drops. 

"Are you fucking kidding?" He coughs, sputters like a complete knob when he reaches for the phone. The dial tone has ceased to exist and the line is spitting out spiraling rings every second. 

Liam's fumbling for the end button when the ringing stops short, this small buzz that grows into something more. A voice. Niall's voice. Tone questioning but pitch soft, a weary sort of 'hello' that drifts through the speaker, into through Liam's head and down past his knicks.

"Er, hi." Liam gulps, eyes locked with Zayn because this is all his fault.

"Liam? Fancy hearing you here." Niall laughs on the other end, "need a dog-sitter?" he adds in and Liam shivers. Shrugs his shoulders when Zayn knits his brows together, a soft 'what's he saying' bouncing off his lips. 

"No, I just, like- how are you?" Liam quirks his lip, presses his fingers into his collar and stretches the material away from his neck, ignoring the light snigger that Zayn is so delightfully producing.

"Fucking dolt you are, Liam Payne." Zayn laughs and Liam holds the receiver away from his ear to silence him.

"Me? Oh, m'lovely, proper well, yourself?" Niall bellows into the phone.

He's got loads of energy, a fantastic sort of attitude and Liam admires that. A sort of 'no control' feeling when really, he has everything down. It's this sort of jealousy that pits in his stomach, sends shockwaves through his veins because  _that should be him_.

Only it shouldn't and people like Niall clearly work and strive for greatness. And it isn't like Liam doesn't, he just-

"Tell him you fancy his cock and you want to meet up f'r dinner." Zayn cups his mouth, leans in just enough and Liam yanks the phone away from the audible bubble he's centered in.

"Fucking mental." He hisses.

"Sorry to hear that, mate. I can call back another tim-"

"No! no, I'm fine, m'good. Just saw a rat in me office, s'all." Liam stutters, holds his breath until Niall's familiar chuckle, winces at the way Zayn is shaking his head in disapproval. Yet he deserves the comparison in every way possible.

"Ah, in your office?" Niall beeps through and Liam nods, a loud 'mhm' rolling off his tongue.

"Well, anyway, since ye called, I was wondering-"

Liam pauses, squints at the way Zayn's fiddling with the screws to his chair, his fingers working along and around the metal head of an old bolt.

"Oi, fuck off." Liam barks

"You're right, I'm an arse, I didn't mean t'-" Niall rushes his words on the other end and Liam grimaces at the way Zayn's doubled over in laughter.

"Not  _you_ , oh god. You were saying?" Liam manages, sucks in a deep breath.

"I was going to ask you out. This Saturday, date n'such." Niall wonders and Liam's heart speeds up, his motions slow down and his breathing is somewhere in the middle. Some mid-way heart attack limbo that he can't stand much longer, oh god.

"What'd he say?" Zayn hums, fiddling around with the miniature rubix cube Liam's sister got him for Christmas last year, the cheap dolt.

"He, uh- like, he," Liam's mouth dries out, cotton swabs stuffed into his gums.

(Like a hazy memory from when he was 21. Louis with a perky camera in his face after getting his wisdoms out while Liam blubbered on about how much he adored the nurse's shoes. And Emma a day later with a hand to his head to check his temperature because she's worse than his mum. All because Liam insisted on coming in the next day. Loopy vision for three hours at his desk from the lingering surgery and too many redbulls later on because-

-Well, because that's where it all started.)

"Spill it, you're gonna lose 'im." Zayn sits up.

"Date." Liam mumbles, terrified. "Saturday."

"Tell him you're busy, hard t' get." Zayn nods off and Liam squints, tilts his head because that's such a daft idea. He's  _always_  free on Saturday, it's his day at home right next to Sunday, cheap, low budget movies on pay per view with Loki nestled into his side, listening up late at night to the tube, pulling in and out of the station beside his flat. Hurried footsteps across the pavement and long, drawn out, steamy whistles that catch the air and carry along like an Autumn breeze.

"No, s'mental and I-"

"Just do it. Sap." Zayn tosses in, lifts his lips at the way Liam must be looking at him.

This permanent glare specially crafted for Zayn. And Louis on occasion, but mostly Zayn.

The snarky bastard.

"M'busy Saturday." Liam mutters hesitantly into the phone and he holds his breath while Zayn laughs into his palm. Ignores the 'too good, mate," he whispers halfway through Liam's anxiety attack.

"Yeah? Oh, it's cool, then, like- Monday night? I dunno if you've got church or summat on Sunday, don't wanna intrude on any worshipping, right." Niall rambles and Liam regrets the nervous laugh that presses, smooths out over his lips.

Sits up and mouths a silent 'now what?' to Zayn who's finished his minutely cackle.

"Tell 'im to hold."

"But-"

"Do it." Zayn straightens up and Liam sighs.

"Can you hold?" Liam strangles out, brushes off Zayn when he throws him a wink.

Liam's fingers fumble with the cord and he curses under his breath when he nearly drops it, a sigh from Zayn who just watches him with amused features and crinkled eyes.

"What? This is your idea," Liam covers the receiver.

"I know, you're just.." Zayn lifts a lip, coughs once, twice, "an  _absolute knob_."

"And you're a heartless twat," Liam fires back, holds his ground because this is getting ridiculous. Not like it ever wasn't. There was no good intention to begin with and now Zayn's just taking the piss. Like he always does, like this is his job. His profession.

He smirks, obviously, lips a bright shade of cotton candy, pink and puffy as he dips his tongue out for a quick sweep.

"Hang up."

Liam pauses, holds his hand back and waits for an explanation. He's logical, and hanging up right in the middle of a date proposition isn't exactly logical.

"Just do it. He'll be expecting you to call back and when you don't-" Zayn cuts off, goes slack and rolls his eyes. Liam caves, fumbles with the cord and hits the end key before he can think.

"If you want it this bad, you'll listen to me, right? Because quite frankly, from my observation, you come off as Liam, his psychotic, obsessive, and above all desperate neighbor." Zayn bites in harshly and Liam winces.

"I am not desperate." He defends and Zayn shakes his head. "Did I sound desperate? I couldn't have-"

"Look at you, my god. Asking me  _desperately_  if you sounded desperate, I swear.." Zayn trails off, raps his knuckles along the chairs arm's. Liam winces, keeps his lips pursed because he probably sounds  _really fucking desperate._

"I know you aren't ready to admit it to yourself yet, but you and I both know quite well, that I know what m'talking about. So I strongly reccomend you think of me as your little wingman throughout this prude and trivial journey of self discovery." Zayn fixes his eyes, crinkles his nose.

"You are-" Liam chokes on his words, baffled.

The phone begins to ring, a steady tone that rings through Liam's office and deflects off his ears, around his head and back again. He holds down the 'oh, god' he has stuck under his tongue, frantic eyes find Zayn's and he waits.

"I would answer it." Zayn shrugs carelessly and Liam nods. Right.

"Wait," Zayn stops, holds out a hand over Liam's and he stops short. This rush of something that singes his skin, burns him like he's been playing with fire only it's sort of refreshing. A breath that isn't mandatory.

"Answer and say; 'hey, Jack.'" Zayn orders and Liam lifts a brow, ignores the increase of thumping past his ribcage because the phones going to ring off of it's hook if he doesn't-

"Just do it." Zayn rolls his eyes and Liam complies quickly, snatches the phone into his palm and brings the receiver to his ear.

"Hey, Jack." He says, rushed. Keeps his eyes on Zayn the whole time. A sort of searching for any signs of comical expression because this could very well just be a big 'ha, I'm fucking with you' sort of joke that Andy pulls on Liam way too often.

Only it's  _Zayn_  and that would make so much more sense if he wasn't keeping his face straight and intentions pure right now. Or almost pure. He's still the devil because Liam cannot be convinced otherwise. He's tried a countless amount of times. Sat up wondering what he possibly could have done to deserve this.

"Oh, uh- this is Niall." Niall stutters on the other end. "Jack?"

Liam's eyes dart back up to Zayn and he wonders why they ever left previously. He's fumbling with the other set and Liam swats his hand away when he begins to muck about with the extra telephone Liam has stored for emergencies. Not like anyone really calls.

Not until now.

"Relax." Zayn mumbles, brings the piece to his temple and listens in. Liam can hear the steady pick up line and he prays that Niall can't because that would be the end of this.

"He's just a guy I'm seeing." Zayn whispers, covers the mouthpiece, wiggles his eyebrows like a complete knob.

"Oh, just a guy m'seeing. Nothing serious." Liam repeats into the receiver, hates the way he sounds so casual about it all. He really isn't that type of lad and the whole world should know that.

"Oh." Niall responds flatly and Liam panics for a second.

"Yeah, I-" Liam begins, raises a brow when Zayn shakes his head.

"Tell 'im to hang on a second." He whispers and Liam nods.

"Hold on a second." He mutters quickly, hits the mute button towards the bottom of the device and lets it sit on his desk.

"Now what?" He wonders, hopes he hasn't gone and mucked up a perfectly good scenario with a perfectly posh lad.

"Now we wait." Zayn sits back and Liam shakes his head.

"No- this was going more than lovely, I don't exactly understand why you feel the need to keep having me put 'im on hold. S'pointless." Liam drabbles out and Zayn sighs in defense.

"What's pointless is you fighting me ov'r it. M'helping you and I know it's very difficult for a massive control freak like yourself to comprehend assistance, but I'm insisting." Zayn breathes out, keeps a hinting smirk the whole way through because he's that devious.

And Liam sort of hates the sour taste in his mouth that comes along with the words 'control freak.' He isn't one. He just likes to be on top of things. Situations. Scenarios. And although it drives him off his rocker half of the time, he's bloody obsessed with the rush that comes along with it all. 

"And m'trying to prove a point." Zayn adds.

"What would that be?" Liam asks, tilts his head and taps his fingers impatiently along his calendar atop his desk. Countless scribbles all over, messy handwriting and notes involving new introduction ads. 

"That I'm right about sappy romance being nothing but a bullshit sham and you're head over heels for purely nothing." Zayn smiles, this sweet endearing smile that has Liam wishing the building would catch on fire.

"Also, it's been more than thirty seconds. Hang up." Zayn chases out, nods his head towards the still phone buzzing silently beside Liam's laptop.

"You c'n thank me later." Zayn chases out a smile, sits himself up steadily and almost gets away. 

Almost.

"What do I do if he calls back?" Liam panics, eyes jetting back and forth towards the telephone set and Zayn who's tapping his foot impatiently by the door, the fucking devil.

"M'sure you can handle it, Liam." Zayn nods off, "after all, you're an award winning news producer."

Liam's blood boils, almost. This tingle in his veins that feels a lot like the spread of alcohol, a sudden wave, wash of confusion and he's back, drumming his fingers along his thigh and jumping when the phone rings on and on, on and on, on and- well, off, because Niall's call is sent right to voicemail because Liam's a bit senseless at all of this.

(Or just normal everyday people things, activities and common conversation that he doesn't have time to professionalize because he's "married" to his job according to Louis.

-And maybe that's the most accurate thing Liam's heard all week.)

 

**===**

 

The view is something beautiful, a narrow, cobbled down street with almost cherry blossom trees hanging over head. This petite cafe perched on the corner of Chipling and Elton. The sun is high in the sky, rays splintering through the barely noticeable holes in the umbrella. There's a hint of baking in the air, cookies, crumpets, cinnamon scones and sugary, blissful tarts. 

It's all mixing into this sort of view that Liam would love nothing more than to paint. 

Only he can't paint and well, he's here for one reason only. 

Niall. 

Not Niall physically of course, but soon enough. According to Zayn who's still blowing on his tea and sneaking little peeks here and there at the scenery around the two of them. Lashes batting like butterfly wings in the Spring. His lips puckering out every now and then to taste test the scalding liquid in his cup. Tongue only to retreat every time he tries because he doesn't seem to have any patience whatsoever. 

"Rule number one," he retires, sets his cup down and slumps back into his chair. 

"You  _can't_  criticize 'im."

Liam lifts a brow, traces his fingertips along the thin napkin in his lap and folds a corner inward. 

"But what if he's like- what if he's being a complete arse and he puts the popcorn in the microwave wrong and he forgets about the plastic inside of a fruit roll-up, or what if-"

"My god." Zayn shakes his head, purses his lips into a line as he reaches for his cup, tips the brim back and sucks back gently. 

"M'really trying here, Liam. Really, I am." Zayn warns, his voice teasing and Liam huffs lightly. 

He can't quite remember when he started to follow Zayn's instructions before his own. 

Perhaps it was late last night at 11pm. Right when his phone began to buzz like mad and Liam maybe sort of definitely panicked and suffered a copious amount of heart palpitations when he spotted Niall's name flashing across his mobile's glass. 

"What about constructive? If I mean well he'll be acceptive, right?" Liam says ducking his head a little, "he would take it great, wouldn't he?" 

"No, no. That's an awful idea." Zayn chases out, clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth to cool everything down. 

(And Liam only smiles at that because he -on occasion- may just do the same exact thing when faced with a steaming coffee at 6am.)

"Just going on on a limb, but m'pretty sure he'll take offense if you nag 'im for chewing on a fruit roll-up wrong." Zayn chuckles into his cup and Liam scoffs lightly. 

"It's unsanitary." He fiddles with his napkin, frowns only a little bit. 

"Child you are, Liam Payne." Zayn grins, catching the corner of his bottom lip with his teeth. 

"Shove off it, I'm jus'- I came here, alright? You're helping me. This was the plan, wasn't it?" He asks, taps his foot along mossy stone and keeps his eyes focused on the way Zayn's fingers drum lightly along the table's surface. 

"Our deal." Liam leans over, whispers, makes sure not to knock his water over with a sweep of his elbow. 

"Would you take the volume down a notch, private? We're under enemy fire." Zayn snorts, can't even bare to finish off his tone as he cackles. 

"Fucking twat." Liam mumbles, bows his head because his cheeks are hot and he hates that. 

"M'kidding, Li." Zayn nods and Liam ignores the jolt in his stomach. 

"What did you just-"

"Rule number two." Zayn cuts off, tucks away a blush with the way his teeth press into his cheek. 

(And Liam only decides to let it slide because he needs these tips. He needs to not feel like a drone with no other purpose but work in his life. He needs to feel like a person.)

"You've gotta laugh at everything he says, right?" Zayn traces the brim of his cup with a fingers, shrugs his shoulders when Liam knits his brows together. 

"Everything?" He wonders and Zayn nods. 

"But what if it isn't funny?" Liam asks, fights the urge to dig around for his mobile and tap out a few notes. 

"That's irrelevant, mate. Fakin' a laugh s'like a fake orgasm." Zayn explains, winks at a passing bird with a purse clutched to her side it's made of gold. 

"So you're saying a fake orgasm is positive?" Liam parts his lips, keeps his eyes at a squint because he's all mucked up now. 

"No, but a fake orgasm is better than no orgasm at all. See what m'saying?" Zayn stripes his tongue along his bottom lip.

"I get it, I get it." Liam laughs, traces a finger up along his glass and lifts it to press his lips. 

"That was perfect." Zayn says, keeps his eyes set on Liam for longer than a few seconds which is- (knee-weakening) odd. And Liam pretends his heart doesn't flutter, catch against his chest and ricochet out of control. 

"Real or fake?" He adds on with question and Liam pins his top lip against his bottom to mask his amusement.  

"You'll never know."

 

**===**

 

"Rule number three." Zayn blinks, runs a hand over the bright, loose fabric and tugs it off the rack without a care. 

"You've gotta look sharp, man." He laughs, shakes his head when he holds the flowy, neon top up and against Liam's chest. 

Liam blushes, quirks his lip into a shy smile when an overdressed employee passes them. This sympathetic expression plastered to her face like she can read  _this_  for exactly what it looks like. 

She probably can, but Liam refuses to believe so. 

He's simply out looking for a new style because he felt like it was time to step up his fashion game. 

(Definitely not because Zayn insisted and swore Liam would end up alone with Loki and cheap pay per view for the rest of his life. Counting the whistles from the tube pulling in and out of the station beside his building one agonizingly cold, singular night after another until his heart stopped beating.)

"And we've got to change your look. People are very visual, like, you can't look like, well,  _that_." Zayn gestures with a wince and Liam scoffs in offense. 

"What's wrong with my look?" He wonders and Zayn tilts his head into a smug laugh. 

"You portray the image of a father of six, bro. S'not attractive." He shrugs carelessly, sticks his bottom lip out like this is actually  _that_  tragic and steps away towards the next rack.

It's some Top Shop downtown Birmingham with prices higher than three of Liam's weekly salaries and door handles made out of some material that feels and looks a lot like diamond. 

"Can't be that bad. S'just clothes." Liam follows closely behind, "right?"

"Liam, if the headers at Vogue saw you out n'about right now, they'd probably get sick all over their trousers." Zayn runs a finger along a pair of jeans. "So, yes. It's  _that_  bad."

Liam sighs, keeps an open mind as he watches Zayn sort through outfit after outfit. Cringe at pairs of slacks and oddly designed joggers. Liam swears he even gags when he comes across the briefs section, Superman, checkered and floral daisies. 

"I jus' fancy being comfortable." Liam drags his lower lip under his teeth, sucks in and lets out a steady breath. "What's wrong with that, exactly?" He adds on more so asking himself because he really can't see why-

"Because no one wants to fuck it." Zayn answers like the answer is printed in bold, tattooed under Liam's own skin. 

"Right." Liam nods and holds out his hands when Zayn's finished plucking the rack. 

"Now go try these on, you strapping lad, you." He smiles deviously, and shoves Liam's back. 

 

**===**

 

The sun is low in the London sky, a breeze that carries the scent of an afternoon rain carries along Liam's skin. It's refreshing, like stepping off of an airplane after a seemingly endless flight. The windy brush from the other jet engines and perhaps a pitter patter of rain.

He's got bag handles all the way up to his elbows and Zayn's trotting beside him like some smug saint from the heavens of 'sex experts.' 

(Or just overly confident assholes with nothing better to do than make something out of someone they feel is weak-

-And Liam's far from it. He's just manipulating Zayn into thinking he's a completely helpless dolt.)

(That's it.)

They've been walking for a mile at least, a few grumbles from Zayn because he can't seem to speak up enough in the cab. Or maybe it's because Liam gave him the wrong adress on purpose because this is slightly new to him. Or maybe it's because the driver had some sick Kanye tune blaring through the speakers the exact moment they both stepped in. 

"Rule number four." Zayn clears his throat, traces a finger along the left lense of his sunglasses and adjusts them back. "Don't talk about your problems because I can bet you a thousand pounds, Nate will not care in the least." 

"Niall." Liam corrects, "and some people do. A lot actually." He stands his ground and waits for Zayn to laugh. He always does whenever Liam states something he strongly believes in. 

"Oh, Liam." He laughs. There it is. 

"No, some people  _pretend_  to care. It's quite misleading, but I suppose you wouldn't know that." Zayn grins, keeps his speed at a minimal and both of their paces alligned. 

"And you would?" Liam wonders, waits for a response that doesn't come. 

It's pure silence for a minute and Liam doesn't know whether to scold himself for interrupting, or maybe just wait for Zayn to remember how to speak again because surely he can't be upset or embarrassed or at a loss for words because that would be just  _absurd._  

"I know what m'talking about." Zayn says quietly and Liam shakes his head in disbelief. 

"I don't see why you assume all humans are just as perverse as you are, it's a bit comical." Liam rushes out, presses his lips together to mask his smirk just a tad.

"Look, I know you may think Nathan is a complete saint who leads a deaf poetry class, but I can guarantee you, a 'how are ye' doing' is just about the same as a 'hey, let me stick my cock in yer a-"

"Okay!" Liam scoffs, trudges along the pavement because the bags are really beginning to weigh him down. 

"Glad you see my point." Zayn smirks. 

"And it's Niall." Liam corrects, adds on last minute before Zayn spins on his heels. 

"Yeah, yeah. Now which one of these shacks are yours?" He wonders, comes to a stop and turns to Liam. 

"Far left." Liam grumbles and follows after him. 

 

**===**

 

The collar is tight, suffocating around his neck like an achy sickness in his throat. It all nearly drawing his face a crimson red. His hair is pushed up into this wave he actually combed through because Zayn insisted this be a 'learning ritual' of some sorts and shoved him upstairs with a familiar chuckle and a bullshit promise that it will ' _all definitely fit, mate_.'

His cuffs are loose. Well, almost. His left is tight as all hell and his right is nearly riding up his arm. A stray, inked arrow comes into view and Liam pulls his sleeve down instantly. His tie is loose around his neck, (like he actually needs to tighten that, unless he wants to end it right here in his bedroom) and his slacks are tight, but not incredibly fitting along his legs. They're different from his regular studio trousers, they're flashy, dark but perceptive in all the right ways. 

Loki is curled up on his bed, this mass of black and white fur that startles Liam at first but draws an honest smile out and past his lips when he comes to the logical reality. The pup's eyes drawn nearly closed when he shuffles by and Loki's nose twitches when Liam steps along creaky floorboards.

"D'ya think I look daft, babe?" Liam wonders, stretches out a hand to run over Loki's soft fur. 

He raises his head and keeps his eyes pinned to Liam's. Coffee bean brown with a swirl of mocha and shot of creamer. 

There's this sudden rap of knuckles on wood from behind him, a sound that nearly sends Liam into hysterics because he's forgotten that he's let Zayn into his house and holy-

He never thought he'd ever be  _thinking_  that let alone  _doing_  it. 

"Talking t' your pup now?" Zayn wonders, leans himself against the door frame and lifts his lip into a smirk. "Same fella who pressed me show on?" 

"Shove off." Liam mumbles under his breath, shakes away a sneaky blush and keeps his hand flat atop Loki's head, gentle strokes and simple scratches behind the ears because he adores it. 

"Oi! turn for me." Zayn jolts to life suddenly, stands to a full and nods his head at Liam. 

So he complies, keeps the tips of his shoes lined up along his scruffed up carpet as he faces his back away from his bed. 

He waits in silence, jumps when he feels a hand run over his shoulders, gasps lightly when he feels fingertips trace and fall loosely into the dip at the bottom of his spine. 

"You had some like, wrinkles." Zayn mutters from behind him. His words are slow, blurred out and Liam likes the way they sound rolling off of his tongue. Like Zayn doesn't even try to stand out when it comes to speaking. He's naturally him if that makes any sense at all. 

"Can't have wrinkles on your gucci jacket, right?" He laughs, some low drawn up beat from the back of his throat that vibrates through his fingertips and along Liam's shoulders. 

"Right, yeah." Liam swallows and turns to face him. He knows he shouldn't but this position is so daft and properly odd and-

"Told ya' I'd hook you up n'd shit." Zayn smiles, crinkles his eyes. Brown beauties like hazelnuts fallen from oaks in the midst of Spring. 

"And shit." Liam repeats, bows his head to stare at his toes because, well-  _fuck_. 

He doesn't like how his stomach is flipping. How his hands are hot and beginning to gleam over with a thin layer of sweat and he can't wipe them along his new slacks because they cost him a mini fortune that he, in all honesty, can't actually afford. 

When he lifts his head again Zayn's close, still as close as before but he's got this hazy look in his eyes. Dreamy like. This glimmer of something that Liam can't pin-point. He's a trick. This is a trick and he hates the gravitational drawing that's pulling, tugging along his torso and-

"Anyway, rule number five." Zayn breaks it all. Snaps it like some hopeless reality. 

And honestly, that's exactly what it is. 

"I've gotta teach ya' how t' flirt." Zayn grins, slaps a hand down on Liam's shoulder and flashes his teeth. Pearly white swirls, straight and in place and-  _god, Liam Payne_. 

"I know how to flirt." Liam scowls lightly, keeps a bit of humor on his side because he could be lying to himself. 

Possibly. 

Definitely. 

"Oh, shit. Forgot." Zayn raises a hand, nods his head and takes one step back. 

"I'm Liam Payne, I adore sappy romance novels, sunny day picnics and I also love myself a bit of gardening on the weekend because I'm booked all week at my bat-shit crazy job." Zayn mocks and Liam's mouth falls open, his posture goes slack and his eyes widen all in the same second. 

"Did I forget to mention my diet consists of microwave macaroni and Red bull?" Zayn adds, ends it all off with a helpless giggle that makes Liam's chest vibrate. 

"Priceless, really." He laughs, turns on his heel to make an escape and Liam huffs, reaches a hand out and slaps a hand down on-  _oh_. 

Oh, fuck. 

Zayn jumps with a small yelp that fuels Liam's confidence, (or maybe that's his nerves kicking on on high alert telling him to give it all up now) But either way, he may have just slapped his co-workers arse but he's still going for it. He's running on a sugar high and perhaps a lack of sleep. 

"And I'm Zayn Malik, or a complete knob with too much free time on my hands and a lack of notation for the importance of true love and all of it's swooning memories." Liam drones on and he bites at a laugh when Zayn spins to face him, a mimicking expression just because they're both so fucking giddy off of each other. 

"Grabbing my arse now, eh?" Zayn wonders with a lifted brow and Liam giggles like a complete git. 

"What's wrong with a little arse grabbing? What's it there for if I can't put my hands on it." He mocks in a tone that's incredibly low and it doesn't even pin point Zayn's voice in the least but it's there and he's made this much of an idiot out of himself before so he might as well just-

"C'mon, you're just a sack of orifices and a set of eyes n'd teeth." Liam adds, slides his tongue out along his bottom lip, wraps it around into another low laugh. 

"And you're a deeply, deeply disturbed person." Zayn accuses, steps forward once to match Liam's position. 

"No, I'd say m'just a proper student." Liam whispers, leans in just close enough so their stomachs are brushing. His blood is filled with electricity and he feels like his confidence is endless. His fingertips lift, graze across Zayn's chest and Liam doesn't miss the twitch in his lip. 

"What- what're you- er." Zayn rushes out, chews along the inside of his cheek and sighs past parted lips. "Would you bug off-" 

"Why? Is it turning you on?" Liam wonders, traces circles with his pointer just above Zayn's clothed navel. 

"Maybe." Zayn chokes out, flustered, coughs once afterwards to mask his vulnerability. 

And Liam's fucking loving this. Loving how Zayn's face twists into discomfort every time his finger dips a bit lower, every time his lashes come down a bit heavier along his cheeks, everytime he stripes steady, wet lines along chapped, cracked lips. 

"Y'know..." Liam trails off, brings his lips across, hovers them over Zayn's ear, "I kind 'f like it."

"Really?" Zayn mumbles, his voice is shaky, wobbling like a tightrope walker, Liam would assume if he could put it all into a different image. 

"Sucker." Liam says, laughs even harder when Zayn's cheeks flush a light fuchsia. 

"Pin it." He mumbles and Liam just shakes his head because this is all too surreal. This situation. This moment in time where he finds humor out of being in the same room as someone like Zayn. Someone who doesn't believe in love, someone who doesn't enjoy picnics at sunset, someone who doesn't play by the rules and makes Liam's life a hell of a lot more difficult than it needs to be. 

Only Zayn's just sort of maybe a little bit of fun when he isn't complicating a mandatory situation. 

Liam's positive.

 

**===**

 

The country club is intimidatingly sumtous. 

There's golf, an inground swimming pool that Liam's heard is rumoured. A full on driving range out back because that's the whole reason they're both here. 

(Or all three of them because Zayn's lurking somewhere around the mess hall.)

Liam's with Niall, him and his golf shorts, tight indigo polo T, sunglasses that make him look even more fit than he already is and a cap to top it all off. A cherry on top that Liam squirms at. 

"Sick place, innit?" Niall wonders, leads Liam with one had to the back, an open view of the fields. Green that stretches for miles on end, seemingly enough. Trees tall as they tower above the outskirts. 

"One time I hit an oak, called me a proper legend for a week straight." Niall snorts and Liam half panics when the reciever in his ear doesn't ring through. 

It's a static echo that startles him and he doesn't protest when a scratchy voice orders 'laugh, you fuckin' dolt' through and against his eardrum.

Liam laughs, hopes, prays it sounds real enough and follows after Niall. 

There are over a hundred sets, platforms with crates of golf balls and Liam arches a brow at the way an older woman seems to drive her club against a ball, nails it over two hundred feet outward. 

"ask 'im how long he's had a membership. He probably loves talkin' about himself." Zayn echoes through and Liam nods. 

"How long have you been a member?" He asks and Niall turns to him, cheeks blushed over as he sets his bucket of balls down. 

"A few months. M'pretty new, but soon I'll be able to drive the carts n'd I hear they're proper fun." Niall drabbles and Liam nods. 

"Laugh." Zayn buzzes through and Liam complys, a low throated chuckle that he thinks it's pretty convincing, however-

"That was weak, mate." Zayn laughs through the piece and Liam scoffs. 

"Thanks, asshole." 

"Huh?" Niall's head spins around and Liam's blood runs cold. 

"Nothing, nothing." He shakes his head, an awkward, panicked over expression when Niall selects his choice of club. 

"You blow at this, man. Just say exactly what I say and we'll be set, yeah?" Zayn says, his voice buzzed, "nod if you c'n hear me, I'm above you." 

Liam tilts his head to look, but-

"Don't look at me, christ, Liam." Zayn scolds and Liam jerks his head back, nods it slowly and watches intently as Niall drills his first ball across the field. Far, far, far until Liam can't spot the ball anymore. 

"D'ya' wanna try it? S'fun." Niall offers and Liam smiles politley, reaches out and takes the club in his grip. 

"Here," Niall says, stands close by, steadies Liam arm and angles him just right. There's this static interuption through Liam's ear and he goes rigid. 

"Oh my god, you're Zayn from the Ugly Truth!" 

It's a femal voice and Liam pauses, confused. 

"What's wrong?" Niall asks and Liam shrugs, allows him to adjust his arm. 

"Hey, fuck off of her-" Liam winces at anothe rmales voice and waits for Zayn to say something. 

"Bro, what the fuck?" He yelps and Liam's unsure, but-

"Bro, what the fuck?" Liam raises his voice, mouth opena dn eyes wide when Niall backs up. 

"I'm so sorry, did I like- I won't touch you if ye aren't comfortable." Niall raises his hands and Liam panics. 

"Tell him you saw 'im lookin at another bloke, I, fuck-" Zayn's voice circuits through and Liam follows up. 

"I saw you lookin' at another lad," he mumbles out, lifts his chin. 

"What? I wasn't, I was jus' tryin' to help ye out, swear." Niall keeps his eyes narrowed, hand over his heart like he's making a scouts promise and-  _that's so fucking adorable_. 

"We need a quick recovery, ask him to help you hit it." Zayn radios through and Liam nods. 

He fucking nods. 

"I forgive you, I, er- help me hit?" Liam asks. 

"It's swing, you  _absoulotue_  moron-" Zayn drones and Liam stutters to correct himself. 

"Swing, will you help me swing?" 

Niall nods, cautiously steps closer and takes his previous position, holds Liam's arm back and lines the club up with the ball along the tee. 

"Jus' keep it steady, careful like and-"

"Fucking hell, woudl you watch it?" Zayn curses through the other end and Liam swings back with a jump, a horrified expression when he spots Niall doubled over in pain. 

"Oh my god, m'so sorry." He's quick to drop the club, help Niall with cautious hands and flushed cheeks. 

"Congrtualations, Liam. You've jus' sacked your boyfriend with a golf club." Zayn sparks on the other end and Liam sighs hopelessly as he rips the piece out. 

 

**===**

 

There's something like success in the air the Friday to come. A high five every corner, perhaps even a wink from some of Christian's assistants as they skip down the hall. Giddy giggles all around the studio and slow and steady work breaks because everyone deserves them. More than deserves them because this show-  _Liam's_  show is flourishing like flowers in a greenhouse. Grass in the summer. Blooming like spotted Orchids.

And he's happy. 

Truthfully, wholeheartedly happy that for once he's being appreciated and maybe life isn't so out to get him after all. 

Like things are going the Liam Payne way for once and maybe he's sort of high off of that feeling. 

"Y'know, I think we could still fit in the comedy central bit, Li." Harry chimes in from beside him. This sudden sweep of deep and raspy cornering Liam's hearing. 

"Too crammed." He replies honestly, shrugs it off carelessly and keeps his pace.

"Are ya' sure? I could like, tell some jokes or summat?" HArry offers, this desperate cling to his voice.

"Jokes?" Liam wonders and Harry nods frantically, sweeps the fringe from just above his eyes with a quick flick of his hand. 

"It could be gold, right. Like I've got a whole book full n'd-"

"Er, dunno if-"

"You cannot be serious, you sapling of a comedian." Louis butts in from somewhere close, ears echolocation or something ridiculous Liam absorbed one late night with the Discovery channel flicked on. 

"It could be proper funny?" Harry lifts a brow, begins to fall behind and Liam's almost free until-

"Liam, you can't let him, he's fuckin' mad if he thinks he could ever." Louis widens his eyes, a stern shake to his head while he fiddles with his cola straw. 

"My god." Liam groans, ducks away from it all, a sharp right and holds his breath until he can't hear any of it. The bantering, or flirting, or whatever it is Harry and Louis go back and forth with to keep things interesting. 

It's somewhere along set four, or maybe five that he spots him. 

Zayn, a fat pout to his lips, drooping eyes and a RedBull clutched between his fingertips. He's engulfed in some- well, Liam squints because he can't really tell. It's costume that draws a smirk out past his lips, he knows that. And Zayn looks like a complete dolt, hair fucked in all directions, a sort of ' _middle finger to the world_ ' attitude that he probably only really shows on days like these when his ideas are cut and he's left with  _this_. 

Some ratty rental costume from Party City and some tea tree oil spritzed on just in case.

"Don't even say it." Zayn shakes his head, sloshes the fizz around in his cheeks and swallows. Doesn't even flinch at the action which is sort of impressive because Liam can recall almost sputtering like a lunatic a few weeks back. On set with droopy eyes and way too much self and other loathing to even comprehend in his busy mind.

It's like him and Zayn have completely switched places and that's a joke on it's own. 

Liam raises two hands in defense, chews along his bottom lip roughly to mask his smirk because  _he can't help it._

"Can't believe I took wardrobe advice from a gorrilla." He snorts, laughing.  Backs up just a step when Zayn gives him this beyond menacing look. 

"Pin it," Zayn mutters ominously, keeps his head bowed as Lou scurries off and away from them both. 

"Hey, so." Liam begins, clears his throat because he can't really believe he's about to ask, but-

"So?" Zayn lifts his head, runs a hand along the nape of his neck and tugs helplessly. 

"Niall called back." Liam presses his lips together, sways back on his toes and shakes his shoulders. He can feel his cheeks lifting and his eyes slitting closed and he can't help but let out a schoolgirl giggle because  _everything_  worked just like Zayn promised. 

"After the golf incident? You're kidding." Zayn says but Liam just shakes his head. 

"Nope." Liam bites at another giddy laugh.

"Here we go." Zayn mumbles comically, sighs into his shoulder when he drops his hand. 

"Did he? That's lovely." He adds, scowls when the fur from his suit become stuck to the chair. 

His eyelashes bat in focus as he fumbles with the caught material. Nimble fingers thread between sticky fur and he huffs lightly, tugs along his lower lip with his front teeth as he yanks it free. Liam shifts uncomfortably, watches his as he adjusts himself, or rather his cock right there through his costume. And a mere tingle of arousal runs up Liam's spine in that second, so he fiddles with his pen, gulps hard to scare it off. 

"Unzip me?" Zayn wonders suddenly and Liam chokes on a cough, reaches up to cover his mouth with wide eyes. 

"What?" He asks, surprised, caught off guard and maybe just a little confused when Zayn lifts a brow in amusement. 

"The suit, Liam. Was talkin' about the suit." He replies, extends both of his legs out and steps down toward the floor. Turns himself around a complete spin so Liam can manage. 

Right. 

His fingers work carefully along cheap ribbon plastic and one diseased looking patch of velcro. And Liam's eyes linger, drift and trace along the fine printed ink along the nape of Zayn's neck. Some design like feathers and stems and perhaps it's a bird but he can't drone out for long so he zips the final zipper, unclasps the last velcro and waits for Zayn to step out of the mess. 

"Thanks, boss." Zayn teases with a grin and Liam sighs, shakes his head and chews along the inside of his cheek. 

"Er, anyway. About-"

"Niall?" Zayn offers and Liam nods. 

"Yeah, I was jus' wondering, like," he cuts off, he can feel his cheeks warming up and he really doesn't mean to look like a teenager, asking premature questions about how to snog properly or when to offer a quick blowjob, or the exact place to give a hickey so no one can really tell out in the public, and-

"Get on with it, man." Zayn rushes and Liam winces when he lets the words roll off his tongue and past his lips. 

"How long do I wait t' like- how long until I should-"

"Shag 'im?" Zayn offers and Liam's cheeks flush. 

"Yeah, that." He mumbles lightly and ignores the strain on his heart from the way Zayn laughs. 

"Well, well." Zayn smirks, keeps his eyes full and on Liam like spotlights. A search party for ' _how long can I make him feel uncomfortable_ ,' Liam presumes. 

"First, you've got t' show'im you're a devious, sexual demon. A right shag monster." Zayn leans back, slides into his chair once more and props his elbow up on the arm rest. Liam follows his lead, slips backward onto an extra stool and lifts a brow. 

"You've gotta show him you're freaky, Liam." Zayn reveals, a more elementary explanation and Liam giggles nervously. 

"Me? No, no. Not a sexual demon." He chases out, smiles politely as if to decline only- well, fuck that doesn't make any sense because he can't exactly refuse. He either decides on it or not. And every seemingly atrocious Zayn Malik "love" interest tip has worked so far. 

"Good point." Zayn nods, a "fair enough" sort of shrug as a follow up as he sinks back. 

"M'guesssing you've been out of practice f'r what? A year. Two?" He dares and Liam scoffs. 

He can't really remember the last time he shagged. Perhaps it was the office retreat, 9 months ago with some uni lad. Shaggy brown hair and a keen interest in surf slang. 

"No," he quirks his lips into a frown, holds it until- "7 months." He rounds.

"Shit, mate." Zayn shakes his head, winces and grinds his teeth together. 

"It isn't too bad, c'mon." Liam retaliates, knits his brows in defense. 

"That's like going without water for thirty days." Zayn clicks his tongue to tuck away an oncoming laugh. "S'bad." 

"Okay, fine. It's bad. But it could be worse." Liam offers with softened cheeks and Zayn nods, a thoughtful expression smoothing over his features. 

"Okay, then," he sits up, "how often d'you toss off?" He wonders and Liam coughs. 

"You're kidding?" He sputters, can literally feel the blush erupt in his cheeks as he slumps, melts into the wooden seat. 

"Do I look like it?" Zayn asks, keeps his smile at a minimum and taps his finger along the wooden crafted rest. Splintering wood smoothed over with fresh stain. 

"S'none of your business." Liam says lifts his head and shuffles himself loose from his seat. 

"Oh, c'mon, Liam. M'trying to help you here. Do you even know where ya' dick is?" Zayn follows behind, this devil who's catching up with every step. 

"Obviously." Liam grumbles, irritated.

"Good, we're getting somewhere, then." Zayn says, keeps quiet until they both reach the refreshment table. Water bottles lined up along the edges and vegetable plates centered because Louis insisted on changing his diet for (himself) the show. 

Emma's there, perched alongside a fruit plate with her mobile clutched in her palm, tapping away something furious. A bat to her lashes every time something shifts around her bubble. 

"So," Zayn begins with a smirk tied in, "y'know how to toss off, dontcha'?" 

"Unbelievable." Liam scoffs, ignores the way Emma's head shoots up, confusion stricken across her face, parted lips and a small gasp to follow.  

"Is that a no?" Zayn wonders and Liam shutters. 

"Never mind, my god. I'll figure it out without you." Liam scowls, presses his heel into the floor and turns, stumbles away. 

"Don't be silly, you need me." Zayn calls out after him and Liam sighs because- 

Fuck, he's right. 

It's only sort of alarming because the truth is, Liam does need Zayn. In more ways than one. 

And that's a night terror on it's own.

 

===

 

The sky is dark, charcoal black and amber streaks light up the horizon like fireworks. A river of lights that flow in between massive clouds. A shuffle to the leaves every time a small gust of wind blows, ruffles the branches along the thin trees that line up to Liam's building. A scent catches the air, something a lot like cigarettes and smog, city transportation and fast food from down the street a little ways. 

His work shoes shuffle against a cobble path and he sighs happily to himself when he spots Niall's apartment. Dark, shut off and kept away from the busy world that's down a few doors. 

His front step is cluttered with the Daily Times, a few out of place pebbles that Liam blames on his neighbors kitten. 

Missy, black and white fur, soft and delicate strides along Liam's front mailbox every morning. A mischievous adoration for digging about his plants, but all is forgiven because Loki gets along well with her and Liam's an absolute sap when it comes to his pup and his mood. 

He reaches down to pluck the role of news up, curves his fingers around the material until-

He almost misses it, this quick shimmer of something artificial a foot to his left, tossed into the bush like some pathetic handful of litter and Liam scowls. 

Almost. 

His hand reaches out slowly, fingertips sticking themselves to the handle as he drags the bag towards him. 

It seems like a present. Like Christmas came five months early this year and Liam isn't exactly complaining. 

He slides the bag loop around his wrists, drowns the eager curiosity he has running through his blood with the jingle of his keys from his left pocket. 

He pushes open the door, smiles down at a wide eyed Loki. Tail slapping up and down, back and forth along the doormat- (Floral because Liam's mum sent him the thing for his birthday last year) and paws kicked back into some odd position Liam lifts a brow at. 

"Whatcha' doin' babe?" He wonders, reaches down to run a few fingers back behind Loki's ear. 

He whimpers gratefully, turns himself over and rolls to the side.

"That's it." He mumbles with a smirk, stands and makes an effort to shed of his coat. 

The light flickers when he hits the switch in the kitchen, this burnt out sort of noise that only startles him for a second because his wires always pull through. 

The bag is heavy in his hand still, looped under his fingers and it feels a lot like shopping with his sisters back in June. His curiosity is biting at every inch of his mind and so Liam shovels away all of the malicious possibilities with a quick huff and sticks his hand inward. 

There's a card, that of which he retrieves first. Eyes at a squint as he examines the messy handwriting jotted down across plain white paper. 

_Thought you could use a little buzz in your life ;) aha x_

_-Z_

Liam arches a brow, repeats the words out loud once, then in his head, then once more out loud again because- 

What in the fuck?

He sticks the card to the counter, keeps an eye on Loki and the way he's twisting about on the living room rug a few good feet away and fishes around for the object he knows is present, but is clueless to the identity. 

His mouth falls open the second he retrieves the package, jaw slack and eyes wide as he reads along the label 'buzz buddy' and 'brought to you by Pleasure City.' printed along the package in fine print.

"Sick bastard." Liam scoffs under his breath, shakes his head back and forth, shoves the ring molded toy back into it's bag along with it's dinky remote and the little desire he held to actually possibly-

No.

He's disgusted, somewhat, partly curious, but for the most part; disgusted. He sort of hopes that Zayn has a receipt, but at the same time Liam can't help but grin over the fact that he would actually expect him to use a vibrating cock ring with-

Liam tilts his head, bites at a laugh when he reads along the side. 

'7 levels of pleasure!' 

He chuckles, then, keeps the sounds trapped behind his ribs and leans back against the counter because there's no way he would even dream of-

It's this vibration from somewhere close. And Liam swears that he couldn't have fiddled with the packaging enough to turn the sickening 'gift' on but perhaps...

He sighs in relief when he spots his mobile, screen lit up as it dances, buzzes in circles along one of his stool cushions. A smile catches on his lips when he reads Niall's name, a cut off message that Liam slides his thumb across too quickly. Eyes a scattered mess as they analyze the text. 

_'Sorry, held up at work nd all that shit x'_

Liam sighs, thumbs out a quick 'no problem' and slides his mobile into his pocket. 

He knows the feeling all too well. That trapped feeling that he conjures all on his own but blames on everything else possible. Knows it like he knows panel keys in the control room or energy drink discounts at Sal's down the block every week. (He's got to stock up at some point).

And now he's got time. Liam's got time for once in his life and he doesn't know what to do besides pace, question his attire, pace some more and mope about how he's convinced his jeans shouldn't be as tight as Zayn selected, but, well. 

His eyes slip to the left, gaze following up the counter along the fake granite and over to the little goody bag Zayn so kindfully dropped at his doorstep at god knows when. 

Perhaps he could take another look, or-

No. 

He won't. 

(Not yet.)

 

**===**

 

The air is cool, icy swept stings as it carries over Liam's damp skin. Water droplets sliding down and across his stomach, back, arms. Humid air suffocating as it pours into and out of his lungs. Breathless.  A steamy bathroom with a fogged up mirror and a light melody of ' _three in the afternoon we still haven't moved_ ' playing through the crack underneath his door. 

He tucks his towel in, drapes it low along his waist and twists the knob, presses forward and sinks back onto his mattress. Allows his duvet to swallow him, steal him away and cover him from the world. 

He blinks, sighs roughly at the chill that sweeps through the room. An open window, he presumes. 

His hand rests just above his thigh and he fights the urge to sink his fingers lower, just trace a nail against his dick. A neglected appendage ever since, well- ever since the world decided to stop working with Liam the way he used to never have to ask it to. 

He whimpers, softly. Thrusts upward with his eyes pinched shut. He's  _so_  easy, so fragile even when he shouldn't be. It's pathetic, he thinks. Like he's made a child of himself. A pubescent kid with curious hands and too many hormones to even comprehend buzzing around behind his thick skull. 

So he gives his hardening length a light squeeze and sits up, eyes landing directly on a bag. One, particularly enough, with a glittery handle and a daft pattern on the outside because  _Zayn's so fucking lame._

And he blames the urge on pure vulnerability. Just the fact he's naked, wet, stressed and fuck out of his mind. The worst sort of fucked. A nervous wreck because he hasn't quite decided which pair of shoes he's going with for his night out.

His luck, Niall will be dressed in some casual getup while Liam's dolled up in some suit he wore to Andy's wedding the previous year. A recycled tux that he's been putting off returning because he sort of likes the way he looks fit in it. 

But he sits up anyway, stretches out a hand and plucks the bag into his lap. 

His fingers are nimble as they fumble with the small package, eyes wide when he unravels the thin cardboard and is faced with, well, it's odd. A daft looking mold that has Liam squinting as he examines it. 

It's like a massive wedding ring. Gold, rubber material that's a bit rough but it seems to be able to adjust and he could- 

Well, it's this sort of 'fuck it' moment that Louis is always telling him about in between cuts. The ones that usually end in eternal regret or endless embarrassment. But maybe Liam could use something new right now. Something that isn't exactly clean or grown up. 

So he strips his towel back, traces his pointer finger along his erect dick and sighs, shakily.  

 _So fucking easy_ , he mocks himself, shakes his head in amusement and grips himself gently, a purr that breaches his lips when he slides the rubber past his head and down. Down, down until it feels stuck, trapped against his skin. But it isn't, Liam makes sure because that would be something out of a horror movie if he had to call someone with a cock ring from 'Pleasure Palace' around his dick. 

(He can imagine it now; Zayn would never let him live it down and he would have to move back to Wolverhampton with Josh and his mum and everyone else who never bothered enough to leave.)

He sits there, legs parted to either side with a puzzled expression, examining, thinking over how and what he presses to turn it on. Not like he should, he's a complete knob for fucking around with a product from 'Pleasure Palace' but he's sort of desperate and he's sort of aroused- 

(Or maybe he's really fucking aroused and he needs, wants to do this more than he's willing to admit to himself.)

He's ready to slide it off, toss the whole bag into his bin when a knock sounds obnoxiously through his apartment. 

And it's this instant panic, a frenzy of 'fuck, fuck, fuck' pouring past his lips as he jolts to life, scrambles for his briefs and brand new pants. His new outfit that he hasn't had time to properly address forty eight and a half times in his head because he's been too busy mucking about with a sex toy and-  _god_ , his mum would have his head if she ever caught him like this at sixteen. 

He's half confused, probably just delusional when he approaches the door minutes later. Messy hair and half buttoned shirt because Niall was  _supposed_  to be running late and Liam's part time praying that it's just some false alarm. Some lost pedestrian, fresh off the tube with some daft city map in between his fingertips and a travel pack that's fit for an expedition strapped over his shoulders. 

He takes in a deep breath, hopes he's clear in every physical check point possible and swings open the door, a bright smile, a ready welcome all up until-

"Hi,"

Holy fuck. 

Zayn's stood there, Christian by his side with a suit, graphite grey and a tie that's striped blue and white. A devilish grin spread evenly across his lips, this sort of ' _surprise_ ' smirk to top it all off because, yeah, he's that fucking devious and yeah, Liam would probably sock him if Christian wasn't standing beside him, peppy with excitement and flushed in the cheeks like it's his daughter's fifth birthday. 

(Or the party from Hell because Liam was the entertainment for that day all because he couldn't say no-

-And perhaps Christian was blackmailing him with cutting the studio production salary, but.)

"Liam, man. How are you?" Christian wonders and Liam's eyes dart over to Zayn, his top lip clamped to his bottom to keep from bursting. That fucking git-

"How am I doing?" Liam recites with an off tone. He isn't sure why he's burdened with their presence when this is supposed to be  _his_  night.  _His_  time away from everything he  _can't_  stand that he  _must_  on a daily basis. 

"Yes. Good, I hope? We've got a big night ahead of us, dinner with corporate, Payno." Christian says with pride, a jolly smile along with it and Liam's heart drops. 

"I-"

"Yeah,  _Payno,_ " Zayn mocks, "ready to go?" He tilts his head, a smug grin lifts at his lips and Liam internally scowls. 

"I can't, I have a date." Liam musters out quickly, purses his lips together and watches as Zayn cracks from behind Christian. 

"So? Bring the bird, who cares. S'just corporate. And didn't Em forward you the email?" Christian rushes out and Liam blinks back, ready to pounce, but. 

"Lad." Zayn coughs. 

"Okay, so bring the lad. God, Liam. We'll pick 'im up on the way, let's go." Christian rushes and Liam lets out a sigh, frustrated. Drags his jacket behind him and shoves past Zayn with a huff because he'll get him back for this. 

It's all so cliché. The perfect night with the perfect bloke with all of the perfect cranberries in between and it's all yanked away from the very bloke who started it all. 

"Don't be upset, Liam." Zayn hums out, follows behind him all the way down the cobble path, around the fountain and through the low cut hedges. 

And Liam just sighs into a groan, tucks it away into his shoulder and follows all the way through until he's texting Niall the new plan. The plan that's being injected into this night by his co-worker who he's beginning to feel a strong hatred for all over again. Liam's absolutely sure he's never wanted to sack someone more in his life than now and that's real. 

"Too late for that." Liam replies, ducks into the back seat of Christians beat up five-seater and slumps backwards. Shifts uncomfortably and swallows down a classic 'fuck the world' he has pressed under his tongue. 

He'll use that one later. 

 

**===**

 

"A doctor, eh?" Zayn wonders, eyes like lasers as they reflect, golden and caramel scanners reflecting against the car's center mirror. 

The city is bright, blurred post lights and flashing blinkers in every direction, a light drizzle because it never doesn't rain in mucky Birmingham and a breeze from Christians window because he's  _always_ hot no matter the circumstance. 

Liam's chest tightens at the question and he breathes in deeply, but silently. 

"Yeh, mostly jus' a podiatrist n'd all that, but m'qualified." Niall beams and Liam smiles thoughtfully, goes completely slack against his seat because he really adores that smile. 

"A foot doctor?" Zayn wonders, a lifted smirk in the reflection and Liam lifts his chin. 

"That's right. An ace one, too." He chews out a smile, leans into Niall just enough to brush fingertips. 

"And you're a producer as well?" Niall continues, and- fuck him very much for being the chatty man- Liam braces himself because he knows there will be some snarky follow up comment that Zayn's probably recited, prepared just in case there was a question of this similarity sparked. 

"Nah, mate. I'm the talent." 

There it is. 

"Don't you watch the show?" Christian wonders and Liam clamps down nervously along his bottom lips, draws his eyes warily to Niall and the way his expression stutters. 

"Oh, I, well I've seen a little bit, yeah." He mutters and Liam doesn't miss the look that Zayn gives him, sugars it with a wink and nods. 

"C'mon, Christy. Niall can't be bothered with such a silly program when he's dealing with foot bashed pinky toes and the occasional foot feti-"

"Oh, look we're here." Liam sits up, holds down a growl at the way Zayn and Christian both break, fit bump eachother and pull into the lot.  

Fucking children. 

 

**===**

 

San Carlo's is crowded, over populated tables and a bar that's nearly being sunk by a shipment of smashed lads with too many empty beer bottles and a lack of proper dining respect. A reckless crowd that pours in towards the middle of dinner because 'live to drink' seems to be the common motto in this part of town. 

"Nice place, innit?" Zayn shoulders by, brushes himself next to and past Liam with a grin and he scowls, allows Niall to follow closely behind. He's never been here. This strange petite resturant that sticks out on the corner of two busy main streets. 

He's thankful, though. One, because the bar is seperate and two, because this may not be as grotesque or maddening as Liam expected.

"I feel like a prince." Liam says, sarcastically. Although he sort of means it with the scenery. Vines draping down on a far corner wall, candle lit center pieces with white draped cloth and not your average paper napkins. Silk, like. 

There's a large crowd of other blokes, or buisness men because that's proper and Liam puts on a smile as Christian leads the way. 

"Paul, Mark, you remember Liam, right?" Christian extends a hand, tilts his head to gesture at Liam and he steps forward, Niall tagged close behind. 

"Hi," he greets simply, shakes hands with both of the broad men and lingers back. 

"Oh, and this is my-" 

"And I'm positive you both know Zayn Malik, fuckin' blessing he is." Chrisian introduces, cuts off and Liam grimaces, bows his head to hide it all. 

Zayn extends a hand and nods, a grin topped off and a sort of 'nice to meet you' he mumbles quickly.

"Well, we should get seated, then? We've got 'buisneess' to discuss," Christian quotes, cackles a cheery sort of laugh and leads the group forward. 

It's like a tour through a dense jungle, swinging arms and thrown back head every foot or so. Liam's nearly tripping over outstretched legs, lubitons and leather Zota's out to get him as he staggers through, clears way and offers up a seat to Niall.

He slides in next, presses his lips together into a fine line and spreads his napkina cross his lap. A habit. A good one. (For once).

And he only groans lowly when Zayn shovels in beside him, plants his feet down and gives this heart warming smile. It would be if he wasn't such a menace. 

"So, when am I getting me raise?" He bellows suddenly and Liam's mouth falls open, he shuffles, ignores the clink of his mobile slipping out of his pocket and hitting the wooden floor, (tight slacks, loose pockets. London logic) kicks him under the table and Zayn gapes. 

"Oi, fuck-"

"That's my guy, comin' it hot with the jokes 24/7 am I right, lads?" Christian laughs, saves the day and Liam sinks back into his chair, deflates. 

Mumbles a sympethitic "I'm endlessly sorry" to Niall who just shakes his head, swears with the way he smiles that it's no big deal.

"Really, though, we're extremely excited about this years rating increases and I suppose we can only tha-a-nk, oh god," Liam cuts off, blood frigid cold when the sudden sensation runs up his limp shaft. This buzz of pleasure that shoots through his soft cock and boomerangs up his spine hitting and scoring every major nerve line along the way.

"What was that?" Mark wonders, his accent is think, distorted like and Liam just shakes his head because-

He fucking forgot about the cock ring. 

"Nothing, I was just saying how, ah, oh-" He shutters, sucks in a sharp breath and taps his foot along the wooden beams. Another shock of vibrations that sets his hands into a jittery mess, a beyond overwhelming sensation that stuns his limbs every now and then. 

"Liam, man, you alri-"

"Ace. Perfect, I think I dropped me mobile, cheers." He ducks, takes in a steady breath under the table and tugs at Zayn's pant leg frantically.

He's joined seconds later, amused, golden brown eyes front and center as they pour humorously into Liam's. 

"Didya' do blow or summat? What the fucks' wrong with you?" Zayn whispers, hushed.

"M'looking f'r- oh fuck." Liam jolts, outstretches a hand and clamps onto Zayn's leg, "m'looking for the remote to my, er, my-"

Zayn's mouth drops and he cracks a grin that says it all. 

"No fucking way." He bites down at a cackle, tilts his head to line up with Liam's crotch line. 

"You're wearing the-"

"Yes, fucking yes and the remote's gone and-"

He lifts his head, smiles politely, normally when he reappears, Zayn soon to follow. A few questioning gawks from the surrounding party but he can fix it up. Simple with some conversation and perhaps he can slip off the ring in the process. 

"Is everything okay?" Niall wonders, an almost whisper from beside him and Liam nods, keeps his lips pinned and flushes. 

"It's just this dip, it's just, woah." He presses his thumb and forefinger together, earning a few generous laughs. 

"Y'know, I think I'm going to head t' the loo, I'll be back-" Liam rushes out, bites at his tongue and stands, panicked. 

"Wait, Liam. Perhaps you could tell Paul about the new teaser campaign we're beginning in a few days, yeah?" Christian offers up and Liam shivers at the following buzz, groans into an approving nod and slips back into his seat. 

"Sure, sure, sure." he drones on, a nervous laugh, just waiting for the next strike because  _something is terrible wrong with this toy._

"They're twenty seconds, we may cut them to ten, on the oh- hour. On the hour." He stutters, ignores the looks he's receiving as best as he can because this will be the end of him if words get out he's got a vibrating, onion ring sized mold around his cock at a business dinner. 

"They're just so, so, so, hmmmm." He half moans, clears his throat and jabs at Zayn's side. 

"You should tell them, Zayn. You've seen them, c'mon." Liam raises a brow, mouths a quick 'please' past chapped lips, begs with his eyes because this is  _so_ humiliating he wants to shrink down and disappear. 

"I quite like the way you're telling it, Liam." Zayn nods, humorously. 

Winks, bats his eye lashes like some innocent saint when really he's a complete asshole and-

"Oh!" Liam yelps, this time louder, can feel eyes on him that aren't just a selected few. It's more. Surrounding tables and curious toddlers and  _fuck, fuck fuck._

It's this intense wave that shoots, boils under his skin and he smiles along the almost pain because it's that fucking intense, that violent that he just shakes into his next breath. 

"It's like nothing you've ever seen before, you're going to absolutely love it!" He rushes out, taps his finger vigerously along the table cloth and keeps his breathing steady. And his cheeks are hot when he spirts slowly into his trousers, a soiled mess. A fucking pathetic excuse for a man and control in general, he thinks, ashamed. His heart it thumping against his rib cage so furiously he could probably leave the earth like this. 

And he can see the headlines now; Lonely heartthrob, death by cock ring at buisness chow down. 

"You've gotta love the enthusiasm." Niall saves the day, almost, this poking grin that lifts his cheeks and Liam wants to kiss him all over for it. 

"Right, right." Mark nods, accompanied by Paul and Christian just sips on his bourbon with wide eyes, pressing his thumb along the outline of his cross, hanging loosely around his neck. 

Like Liam's some sort of sexual demon and-  _oh god_. 

Zayn, that absolute prat. 

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to head to the washroom." Liam mumbles out, mortified. 

 

**===**

 

It's after. After he clicks the last stall's door shut, locks it twice just to be sure. After he strips his briefs and gulps at the sticky stain painted inside (fucking hell), tosses the ominous toy into the loo and flushes a good five to six times. It's after he washes his face over with hot water and after he emerges, sticks out all of the embarrassment for the rest of the dinner. Keeps a polite smile all the way through, bowing his head to avoid direct eye contact and shaking a few hands because he seriously cannot get out of here fast enough. 

He shuffles, ignores the chafe in his trousers, his sensitive dick rubbing up against the not-so-silky pant material everytime he steps forward. 

"Quite the show, mate." Zayn laughs into his palm when Liam makes for the exit, he's sort of given up on watching Niall because hima nd Christian seem to be chatting it up about every type of foot fungus out there and, well, no thanks. 

"Here's the remote, though." Zayn grins, ear to ear as he hands Liam the buzzer. 

"Are you fucking-"

"It wasn't me, man. S'cool. Some little kid, or summat. Dunno. He was pressin' away like mad when I got him." Zayn corrects, shrugs and seems to search for the little menace. 

"And thanks." He adds, this grateful tone Liam doesn't recognize. 

"For soiling me pants? Yeah, no problem, lad." Liam rolls his eyes, shifts and adjusts himself through his slacks, ignores the giggle Zayn lets slide out past his thin lips. 

"Nah, for coming." He says, a humorous glow in his cheeks. 

"To dinner. Not like-" he cuts off with a laugh and Liam can't help but let a chuckle climb up his throat and out, a reliving sort of laugh that he saves for massive fuck-ups like tonight. 

"Yeah, dinner." Liam repeats, slightly uncomfortable as he clamps down, drags his bottom lip underneath his teeth. 

"He fancies you a great lot." Zayn says suddenly and Liam immediately locks eyes with Niall, a bellowing laugh, cherry blush with eyes pinched into a squint from laughing too hard. 

"Ya' reckon?" Liam wonders and Zayn shakes his head. 

"I know so." He replies, distant. His eyes still locked on Liam. This trace of something in his words that makes Liam question how much he may have had to drink. Perhaps a quick ginger vod while Liam was off in the loo, cleansing his trousers to his best ability and cursing the sex toy with all of the prayers he had memorized from early childhood. 

(Mostly just a bunch of 'fuck you's' and a few 'burn in the eternal pits of hell's', but, well.)

"He's a good lad." Zayn nods, adds in even though it's unnecessary. Liam's aware. He has been. 

He quirks his lip, watches as Niall past Christian on the shoulder and sways forward, adjusts his tie and perks his head up with a grin when he spots Liam, gawking. 

"Ready?" He wonders. 

"I know Liam here is." Zayn cracks a grin and Liam swallows down his embarrassment once more. 

Typical.

 

**===**

 

"Right mess ya' are, Payne." Emma purses her lips, the click of her heels prominent as Liam moans into his arm, a scent like ginger only it's sort of washed out by Tide detergent and toxic air molecules floating around his everyday space. 

Some sickness Christian was spurting all over the place earlier on that morning, an infectious cough and a harsh case of the common cold. Louis' burnt bread he left in the toaster a few hours back and-

It's this faint hint of mint and John Varvatos that Liam really (loves) hates because it's the same cheap scrub Zayn has on everyday on set and it clings to Liam's walls like a lit flame. Hugs the wallpaper, drags itself across the carpet.

Emma slices her words into a smile, one that spreads across her cheeks instantly like a magenta rash, "have been since-"

Well-

Niall.

It's  _Niall_.

Everything is Niall and Liam sort of hates how his mental armor is being penetrated by contagious giggles and blushy cheeks the color of early mornings. Bright blue eyes that Liam could swim in if he wanted to because they're so  _fucking mesmerizing_  but-

He couldn't ever hate it, really. He's actually sort of in love with it all.

It's been three weeks, three dates after that one (or many phone calls because Zayn's some sort of psychic), and Liam's sort of grateful Niall still wanted to see him after  _the business dinner from hell_ that he's yet to tell Emma about. Perhaps he never will. 

Just like he'll never tell her about the flower vases lining up his den living sill back at his flat.

(Blue chrysanthemums because Niall's a bit too ace at profile research and he somehow figured out on day 11 of whatever  _this_  is, that Liam adores blue, or sapphire chrysanthemums because those are his mum's  _favorite_.)

"It's bloody heartwarming, though. You two. How ya' get all proper giddy with 'im,  _god_ -"

"Pin it," Liam blushes, exhales softly, biting at his lower lip because he really is a giddy dolt.

Although he sort of can't really ask her to. He's in love with this feeling of almost being in love. He's so positive it's been that way for a week or maybe longer now. Perhaps it sunk in after the trip Niall brought him on. A country side cruise and a picnic along some river that he used to camp beside when he was younger. Right after he moved from Mullingar with his father and brother. 

"I can't be happy for me boss?" She smiles, blows loose hair out of her eyes with a light bat of her fingers.

"Not your boss." Liam grumbles, lifts his head fully and presses his back to the leather of his chair.

Emma smiles, the effect something along the lines of warm, this fuzzy tingle that spreads along Liam's skin. A fragile blow that isn't enough to raise goosebumps but it draws an honest smile out and past his lips.

"I know, love, I just find it an absolute honor working for you." She bites at a smile, hides it along her lower lip and wraps her fingers along her portfolio tightly.

"Sorry,  _beside_  you." She corrects and Liam smiles.

"Oh! And before I forget, you have a meeting with Alexander from technical at four and a lunch date on Wednesday with Lou from makeup." Emma says, her nose crinkling with a quick sniff.

"Don't tell me.." Liam holds his breath because-

"Yes, it's about the rash on Louis' cheeks. It'll be fixed up in a jiff, I promise you. Easy fix." She swears and Liam hums steadily, nods and fiddles with his ID strap. The metal of his whistle icy against his fingertips.

"It won't even be that bad, darling. It'll be just-"

"Dreadful?" Liam offers, ignores the way Emma crooks her neck.

"Fine. It'll be just fine." She scolds, her eyes lifting from her folder.

"And." She begins.

"And? There's more is there?" Liam wonders out loud.

"Yes, just a meeting with corporate this Saturday and you need to be prepared, don't be brooding." She warns and Liam sulks.

"Seriously, darling, I'm just helping you out here." She taps her nails, curves them along the edge of her paper stack.

Liam knows. And he's more than grateful, really. He doesn't know how he could ever survive without her. Witty comments, smart and quick to react in maddening situations. The ones that are like runaway trains, simply unobtainable.

His other leg.

Not like he couldn't manage with one because he's perfectly capable. He's always prepared for the unimaginable. Or at least that's what he tells himself because he hates the idea of not knowing.

"I feel like I'm drowning." He says, sucking in his lower lip, keeping his tongue pressed behind his teeth.

"I know, Liam, I know, but you're brilliant, you're strong, young, str-"

"Strapping and handsome." He finishes, doesn't mean to sound rude or egocentric because he knows the compliments aren't all that well deserved. He likes the way they flutter past his ears, warm his heart like abanged up generator in the Winter.

"Exactly. Memorize those words and keep 'em close t' here." She lifts a finger, reaches across his desk and pokes right at his ribcage, a steady thump there that causes her lips to quirk into a smile.

"Brilliant." He mumbles, barely short of a whisper and smooths a smile out across his lips.

"Right on, boss." Emma throws in a cheeky smile and Liam groans playfully.

"Get out of here." He shoo's and she giggles, cheeks a faded blush.

"I've got meetings and me paperwork t' sob over." he calls out right as she begins to exit, heels sinking into his carpet and plucking upwards with every step.

"Just be thankful, Liam, you have dazzling employee like me'self to schedule these vital meetings." Emma scolds, holds a finger out with one of her well known ' _I'm taking the piss, lovely_ ' grins she throws in last minute, a giggle stuffed into her shoulder as she swings past Liam's office door and back down the hall where she first came from. 

He sighs into his palm, keeps his head bowed and retrieves his mobile from his pocket, lazily. Drags his thumb across the screen and goes slack at the alert set across thin glass.

His cheeks lift at the sight of his message bar. A text from Niall with too many daft winky faces and a bit more than just some lovey praise with the words he includes, inserts into the message like he copy and pasted it from the bible.

Liam isn't even sure they make sense, jumbled together, a few more exclamation points to top it all off. Like icing on a cake he's not too sure about trying. But he nods along, brushes off the doubt he has stuck to his skin and taps out a quick reply. Something along the lines of, ' _you're so incredibly charming_ ' and slips his device away.

It's all rather great because Liam fancies Niall a great deal. He's clean cut, a proper comical lad who adores classic novels and believes in romance and all of it's bliss and fortune. He's pretty close to Mr. Perfect. And Liam's sure that he's found him.

His Mr. Perfect.

(Almost.)

 

**===**

 

It's some bar and grill joint downtown, a tiny building crammed into the side of an apartment building and a drug store and Zayn swears it's the best place for a meet. 

(Or a gang meeting, because Liam might as well ink it up, spliff it out and join the nearest cult with the way people are glaring at him.)

"You look like you're pissin' yourself, mate." Zayn perceives, sips along his diet cola and keeps steady eyes on Liam. 

"M'just not used to this." Liam mumbles, simply. 

"Right," Zayn nods, "prince." He works up to a smirk and Liam sighs. 

"Look, we have the balloon festival coming up in a few weeks n'd I was thinking we can talk segments?" He offers and Zayn nods along, stripes his tongue out along his bottom lip and loops it around to hug his teeth. 

"Yeah, okay. I was thinking we could cover topics on location, right? Because you're like, you're great when you're interacting with people." Liam rushes out, an almost wince at the way he worded things. 

"Wait, hold it," Zayn sits up, interested. "Did you just call me great?" He wonders and Liam sighs into an eye roll. 

"Yes." He mutters, quietly. 

"Well, right back atcha' babe." Zayn winks and Liam doesn't feel anything but content with the way there is no rude, snarky comment attached. Simply a thank you for a compliment and that's how it should be. 

"So, tell me." Zayn sits back, raps his fingertips along the chipped table wood. Traces some pattern along rough mahogany, "how come a dazzling lad like ya'self is stuck in Birmingham when you could be in London. Runnin' the world or summat?" 

Liam snorts, pins his eyes with a laugh and chews along the inside of his cheek. 

"Me? No, no. M'not into big and banging." Liam declines like Zayn was offering. He wasn't, though and, wait- fuck. 

"You jus' fancy being a little fish in a little pond." Zayn cuts to conclusions and Liam's lips part in protest because that couldn't be more (accurate) wrong. 

"Not true." Liam argues, traces the brim of his ice water with his pointer, condensation catching on his skin like snowflakes in late December. 

"Bullocks," Zayn mumbles, clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

"And Birmingham is more of an estuary, or perhaps a bog." Liam corrects, wets his lips with a steady swipe, "plus, it's a nice place to settle down, raise a family, and-"

"Die?" Zayn cuts off and Liam chokes back on a cough, sputtering. 

" S'what comes after, right? Or is it death before marriage, because after you say that you do, s'pretty much all downhill from there, mate." Zayn shrugs carelessly, like those words are so fucking easy to say.

"You're-" Liam stutters.

"Right? I've been right about everything so far." He argues and Liam sinks back, not entirely defeated, but not all that prepped for battle. Not here.  

"Cocky. I'm endlessly grateful that Niall didn't turn out like c complete egocentric prick." Liam mumbles out, disbelief singed along his words and he sort of likes the reaction, although it be a bit stingy, he draws out of Zayn with the words. 

"Right, yeah, because Niall's only into lads with quality and proper standards." Zayn's jaw goes slack and he tilts his head to one side, staring at Liam with a look like 'are you absolutely this pathetic?' taped along his cheeks. 

"That's a quality to be admired, not mocked," Liam huffs, lifts his chin, "at least he doesn't sleep around every other night n'd suck cock when he's low in pounds." Liam adds in, doesn't particularly enjoy the way his wording choice feels, tastes in his mouth. 

"You are something else, Liam Payne. I swear you- wait." He cuts off, a smirk lifting his features into something devious and Liam winces, "did you just say cock?" Zayn wonders, sits himself up, props his elbows along barley sanded wood and keeps his expression purely interested. 

"Yes." Liam replies, "I can say cock. You don't own the word. Cock, cock-" he flicks his glass one, a barely audible chime to come of it, "cock." 

"This is coming from the lad who was crying over a cock ring a week ago and now you're spilling out fucking appendage rhyme party in the middle of a saloon?" Zayn asks, reaches for his cola and sips along the brim because he declined a straw offer, the sick fuck. 

"Well." Liam hums, keeps his head bowed and eyes down. 

"You slept with 'im, didn't ya?" Zayn's tone shifts and Liam's eyes bolt upward.

"What? No, no. We're, er- we're saving it." Liam stutters out, met with Zayn and his inconvinced expression halfway, "he's takin' me to lake Purdy this weekend." Liam informs, proudly. 

"Oh." Zayn runs his thumb along his bottom lip, nods.

"Yeah." Liam swallows, ignores the way Zayn's features fall just a tad in the lighting. 

And that's all it is, really. Just the dim-shit lighting that can't be more frustrating when attempting to pay the bill.  

"Well," Zayn snaps out of it, arches both brows and leans inward, hand clasped around his drink.

"Cheers to overcoming assumptions." He says, holds out his glass for a clink and Liam shrugs, lifts his water and waits for the collision. 

 

**===**

 

"So, there you have it." Zayn shrugs, keeps his tone moderate, his expression abnormally blank and Liam stares intently at the screen, waits for him to snap out of it and add in some outrageously unpleasant joke. 

"Never assume that a person is dull or prude, sappy or boring because I can guarantee that you'll find their are many layers to that specific personality." He adds on, draws Liam's attention back and has Christian in a mere panic because "this isn't funny, it's actually sort of poetic," according to Louis who's on break, kicked back beside Liam with a red bull in his clutch and ratty converse planted to the floor. 

Emma's in the corner of the room, lulling over the way Zayn seems so sincere, like he's saying something meaningful for once and it's heart warming. 

Liam, though. He's somewhere like limbo, caught off guard by this segment he never really had time to plan. Too many nights out with Niall the previous week with Zayn swearing he would take care of it all and, well, he did. In his way. 

The Zayn Malik way that always seems to be the right way no matter how rough the patches may seem. 

"I'm just waiting f'r him to drop a bomb, mate. It'll come, you'll see." Louis nods, nudges Liam playfully and sinks back into his chair. 

"And once you get past those layers," Zayn pauses, considerate expression dwindling, "m'sure they'll give ya' a proper shag and offer to make ya' breakfast." 

"He's back." Louis and Emma both say in unison and Liam doesn't fight the smirk that tugs at his lips. Let's it break free, sell itself as he motions for Johnny from controls to cut the clip. 

 

**===**

 

It's later on. After Emma's about ready to clock out, two hours of segment planning and script changes that Liam really would like to have a nice sob over. After Louis, slowly enough, selects and decides which color tie he will be wearing next week. 

(Some cranberry color that Liam cringes at but he lets slide because he's ready to turn in for the day.)

It's right when he's shutting down his computer, slipping his mobile into his pocket after thumbing through a quick few new tweets on Twitter and sending an update text to Niall who has kips and movies planned until tomorrow when they depart for uptown Birmingham. 

"You're taking the piss?" 

It's Zayn, a questionablee other and a tone that has Liam's curiosity peaked instantly. He slides his door shut slowly and steps down the hall just enough so he can make out a muffled-

"Nah, man. I'm not even fuckin' around." The other male rushes out, a loud smack and then two beating chuckles to follow. One familiar, the other not so much. 

"The Graham Norton show? This is fuckin' mad, this is-"

"Not happening without my approval." Liam leans against Zayn's door frame. His office is a right mess, papers scattered along the mangled carpet. Too many coffee stains to count and a mere mountain of bobble heads, half toppled over along his desk. 

"Right, Liam, this is Anthony." Zayn quirks his lips, lowers his gaze to the floor and Liam's hesitant when the lad offers his hand out, but he obliges all too politely. 

"And Anthony is-"

"My agent." Zayn replies simply, rolls back on his heels, hands stuffed into his pockets as he puffs his cheeks. 

"Since when do you have an agent?" Liam turns to Zayn, one brow arched, crossed arms.

"Since he became the hottest star on TV, are ya' kiddin'?" Anthony seems to take offense, slaps a hand down on the small of Zayn's back and lifts his lips into a grin. 

"Have you seen this guys ratings?" He adds, another slap on the back and Liam doesn't miss the way Zayn's jaw clenches. 

"Yes, yes I have." Liam smiles, holds it, one, two, three before backing up.

"He's going to be a proper legend." Anthony swears, holds his words and drags them out to a maximum. "C'mon, we've got t' plan f'r tonight, right?" 

"Yeah, yeah." Zayn nods, this lingering glare that's more apologetic than it is humorous, left Liam for scraps.

 

**===**

 

"Absolutely fucked." Christian runs a hand through his hair, a nervous tremble to the way he paces, shaky breaths like it's way too hot in here and he may sweat through his shirt if he doesn't pop a window or pay for proper AC. 

"Don't say that, we can work around it." Liam reassures, positively. 

"Liam, man. Are you fucking mental?" Christian wonders, taps a finger against his temple and faces the wall. 

"Well, not all of the time, but I see a potential benefit from-"

"He's being offered a job at a CBS affiliate in London. Twice the pay, perhaps even triple, I don't have many details." Christian repeats. And Liam knows, he knows because the poor lad has been on about it for the past ten minutes. 

"I know, but we could always use-"

"Graham Norton is his audition. We're fucked to America and back." Christian almost sobs, chokes on a cough and finally, plops himself down in his desk chair, "if Paul and Mark find out about this, we're good as gone, Liam." 

"You can't be serious." Liam half wonders, half accuses because he knows this will affect him one way or another. 

"Oh, m'serious." Christian lifts both of his brows, take sa steady breath and sits still for a minute before-

"That's why I need you to fly out this weekend with him and talk him out of it." Christian rushes out, adds on a wide smile at the end that makes Liam's stomach flip. 

"What? No, m'going to Lake Purdy this weekend." He shuts it down. Almost. 

"Just- don't let him know you know. Gather all of the publicity possible and then convince him he just needs to sign off with us for another five years or so, yeah?" Christian lays out and Liam's head is spinning. He can feel his skin boiling with a desperate sizzle, fingertips pressed into the arms of his chair so brutally hard because this  _wasn't_  his plan. 

"I will no-"

"Brilliant." Christian sighs into a breath, closes his eyes and allows his fingers to smooth circles into both of his temples. 

"That's all, Payne." 

 

**===**

 

The clouds are like cotton, swift swirls that float along clear blue sky, hundreds of feet below and as far as Liam's eyes allow him to squint. Plain daylight and high above the world, aircraft style and he decided here, in this torn up seat, that he really enjoys airplanes. 

"Cran vodka, please." Zayn beeps from beside him and Liam scoffs, tilts his head to witness his encounter with the stewardess. 

"No, no. He'll have a water." Liam corrects and Zayn looks like he's about to punch him. 

"No, Liam. I'll have a cran vodka." He fights and Liam lifts his brow, amused. 

"You aren't going to show up to set smashed, I won't allow it." Liam shakes his head, purses his lips into a thin line and lifts his eyes to meet the stewardess'. "Water." 

She nods, continues along her rounds and collects rubbish from the isle seated occupants. 

"M'going to fucking-" Zayn groans, low. Grips at his seat, digs his fingernails into the foamy cushion and retracts them with a breath. 

Liam cocks a brow, catches a laugh that hums at the back of his throat with a knaw to his lip. 

"What's the matter? Afraid of the clouds?" Liam teases, a low laugh that spills past his lips without warning. 

"No, er- jus' like." Zayn stutters, gulps down the rest of his sentence and blinks once. "Yeah, yeah." He nods and Liam's never really seen him this frantic before. He sort of loves it. 

"This is a proper riot." Liam shakes his head, lifts the window just a little higher, just a bit more of a view for Zayn and all of his fear to observe, absorb. 

"It really isn't, you  _absolute_  prick." Zayn bites along his thumbnail, quirks his lip and sinks back into his chair, deflated. 

"I don't fancy flying in the least and I don't need you making it more of a challenge for me." He rushes out, his chest rising, falling twice with every second passing. 

"Okay, my god. I'll close it." Liam surrenders, stuffs a giggle into his shoulder as he slides the cover down, a click later and Zayn's chest has fallen to a minimum rise and fall. A steady beat.

"Thank you, s'just fucked." Zayn sighs, relieved, rests his head back along his neck rest because he insisted on one and Liam happened to pack an extra. 

"Fucked." Liam repeats, smirks at the way Zayn seems to compress with a drawn out sort of yawn. 

And it's minutes later, after the sun begins to retire into the afternoon sky, when Zayn's eyes are drilled shut, his heart thumping away soft beats every half snore. A stereo, Liam thinks, oddly enough. 

His lashes are light as they bat, tremble every time he shifts in his sleep, quirked lips like he's having a dream and he can't really keep down. It's sort of... adorable? The word sounds daft in Liam's head and he immediately fights himself for even thinking it in the first place but-

No, it isn't that. 

He's got Niall. 

Blonde and brunette swirls that tickle along Liam's forehead when they kiss, blushed cheeks and burnt cookies because neither of them are that good at cooking but they intentionally continue to try because they simply can. Snogs in the park across from their building, beach days because Niall's sort of intrigued by volleyball and he isn't exactly ace at it, but Liam's always a hysterical mess when he misses the ball and ends up bopping himself square in the face. He's the definition of a knob but Liam's sort of-

There's three words at the back of his head that chase away his morals, chase away his intentions and his clarity and makes him wonder if he's found it. 

That one word he should know better by definition but doesn't. 

He may, though.

Almost.

 

**===**

 

They cab is quality if that makes any sense at all. 

Leather seats, scratchless, polished mirrors and a driver in uniform because apparently Graham Norton doesn't fuck around when it comes to his guests. There's a more than working AC and Liam slaps Zayn's hand away when he lifts a finger to lower the window. 

"Resourceful." He scolds, tips his head and Zayn rolls his eyes. 

"Resourceful," he mimics, a flash of pink past pearly whites when he tucks his tongue between his teeth, giggles and nudges back along the seat when Liam gives him a stern glare. 

"Pushing it." Liam warns and Zayn lightens up, loosens his shoulders and rolls his neck to the side. 

"Look, m'sorry you didn't get to spend time with little Niall, alright?" Zayn apologizes, only Liam can tell it isn't sincere and-

"Not speaking of his, well, y'know. Although m'sure that's proper little as well." He adds on and, well, yeah. There it is. 

"Really?" Liam arches a brow, frustrated. 

"That's what you want t' talk about right now? Niall's dick?" Liam wonders and Zayn shrugs. 

"Perhaps if ya' get into detail, I mean-"

"You're unbelievable." Liam scowls, disgusted, shakes his head and rests it along spotless glass and blinks at the sunset. Streaks of orange and light magenta that settle behind clustered clouds.

"But," he sighs, heavily, "we need t' talk about what you're going to say tonight and I-"

"He's going to ask me how I got to where I am, I'm going to take five seconds to understand his incredibly obnoxious accent, and then I'm going to reply with-" Zayn cuts off, grins, "Well, it all began when I realized that I was properly brilliant, stopped calling in and began to actually do something with me life and now, well." Zayn shrugs and Liam sticks a scoff to the back of his throat. 

"Just ask me producer, Liam. He's a right charmer when he isn't sexually frustrated." Zayn laughs, bottom lip tucked under his top and Liam furrows out a disapproving look. 

"Ah, yes. some more incredible wisdom passed on by yours truly." He mumbles. 

"Who's the lad who has a boyfriend right now because of me?" Zayn wonders, cockily. 

"It may have started because of you, but it's kept going because of  _me_." Liam argues, offended and riled up because that isn't the least bit true. 

"Right," Zayn shrugs, "jus' acting like your normal, control freak, psycho-self."

"I am not a control freak, and I will not sit here and be patronized by my-"

"Did you, or did you not, while checking in to our hotel, request a room that is facing the western side, on a floor above 8 but no higher than 10?" Zayn wonders, amusement lighting up in his eyes like a fully lit off firework display.

"I- I like rising with the sun." Liam stammers, flustered in all of the wrong ways. 

"Point proven." Zayn says, "which is why Niall adores the 'Zayn' version of Liam instead of the actual 'Liam' version of Liam." 

"I beg to-"

"So don't go bashing my words of wisdom when you're physical, living breathing proof that they work." Zayn adds, more than chuffed with his rant.

Liam sighs into a slack back, rolls into his seat and shakes his head back and fourth. Holds down the 'I could be having a brutally steamy shag right now' he has coiled up under his tongue and melts into the melody playing through the cab speakers. 

' _No, I'd never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you_.'

 

**===**

 

The studio is a parade of people, frantic script changes, delivery men back and fourth, rushing past the three of them. Liam, Zayn and- Anthony, because Zayn insisted on having him there for support,  _the fucking git_. 

"You're about to go on National Television, Malik. This is absolutely mad." Anthony squeals, scurries and shoves in front of Liam crudely. The bastard. 

"How do ya' feel?" He wonders, pushy like and Liam rolls his head to the side. 

"M'nervous." Zayn mumbles out and Liam sighs when they reach the stage gate. 

"Listen." Liam steps up, brings a hand up to steady along Zayn's shoulder and both of their eyes gravitate towards the touch. 

"You entertain millions of people country wide with your moronic and incredibly trivial ideas and they, don't ask me how, love you for it." Liam shakes his head, keeps a steady drag to his words and pats Zayn once, "you'll be fine." 

"I think," Zayn pauses, amused. "I think that may be the sweetest thing you've ever said t' me, babe." 

"Don't get used to it." Liam warns, switches his gaze to the main set and breathes in deep. Holds it.

"Go." He orders and Zayn does, a light shove to Liam's shoulder and a smile that begins in the dent of his lip, works it's way up along his cheek until he's ear to ear, shuffling up onto the main platform. A cheery crowd and a welcome from Graham himself, then Liam's backing up because he can't do much now. 

 

**===**

 

"Zayn, I hear you have many interesting ideas and theories. So what would be your advice to the lovely people we have sat here today? The ones looking for love, that is." Graham wonders, he's got this look of interest to his expression and Liam thinks that must have taken him years to mask. It's convincing. 

Zayn pauses, seems to take the question into consideration although Liam knows he knows the answer. They knew these questions were coming and it's clear most of them would be opinionated and he can't really help that he's chewing alongside his thumbnail nervously. A habit that Zayn seems to have stirred up in his life along with a basket full of other unwanted events. 

"Just don't do it." Zayn shrugs, grin and all as the audience roars with laughter. 

Liam doesn't know whether to shake his head with disgust or applaud him for drawing out such a reaction. 

"Look f'r lust, a quick shag here n'd there because it's loads less messy than a frilly promise ring and some flowers for Valentine's day." Zayn adds on, drawing in another laugh from the hundreds sat in the audience. 

Liam tips back on his heels, attempts at shifting his view past the lingering set cameras but fails, resulting in stepping backstage just a tad further. Out of view. Out of  _Zayn's_  view. 

And he blames it on how odd the whole setup is. The lack of a control panel at his fingertips or a redbull can strapped into his grasp. The large plasma he stumbles across behind the curtain is a ton more pleasing, reassuring. So he plants himself there, stares up at the screen and waits. 

"So, were they?" Graham asks after al of the laughter dies down and Liam searches his memory for any specific mention of another co-worker. Or perhaps the radio station that first took Zayn in? There isn't anything about another-

"Who?" Zayn freezes, taps his fingers along the armrests and Liam can feel his chest tighten at the possibility of this coming crashing down. 

"Whoever broke ye heart, right? It's gotta be someone that really doozed ya' up, mate." Graham turns to the audience, approving nods all around and Liam watches, nervously, as Zayn bites along the inside of his cheek, gulps. 

"Well," Zayn begins and Liam holds his breath. 

 _Say something witty, say something witty, witty, witty, witty_. He repeats in his head. Chants all the way until-

"Better a doozy than a floozy." Zayn rhymes up something ridiculous and Liam sighs into a breath as the audience erupts. 

There he is. 

 

===

 

The hotel restaurant is alive with music, live entertainment, dancers. There's decorations all around, hung up streamers along railing banisters, food something a lot like gourmet dishes and Liam's content with the location he chose. Some fivestar in the center of London because Christian was forced into paying and Liam decided to make it a little tougher on him considering his runway spotless plan that spoiled a whole weekend beside Lake Purdy. 

Liam's still planning on charging a full course meal to room service. 

His phone buzzes and he scoffs at the "urgent" message Christian's suddenly beeped through. 

' _Convinced yet?_ '

Liam taps out a quick 'getting there' just as a surprise Zayn slides into the seat across from him. 

He's dressed in a loose dress shirt, some pattern that Liam finds appealing to the eye and his typical skinnies. A sort of 'why did you ask me here' expression tied along with a mischievous smile. 

"Can't believe you invited me to our hotel lobby for a celebration, Liam. You're too much. Top notch date laid out for us n'd all." Zayn stripes a tongue along his bottom lip, taps a thumb along the glazed over, wooden table.

"Celebrate." Liam repeats under his breath, humorously. 

"That is what you've dragged me here for, innit?" Zayn wonders, sinks back and Liam shakes his head. 

"What is there to celebrate, exactly?" He asks, pursed lips into a thin line as Zayn winces. 

"I was jus' on Graham Norton, are you taking the piss? What's  _not_  to celebrate." Zayn cackles, rolls his head to the side because he thinks Liam's joking. 

He isn't. 

"I heard about the offer." Liam says, fiddles with the straw to his water. Tap with ice. 

Zayn nods, traces his eyes along the table and up again to meet Liam's, "Fuck." 

"Yeah, Zayn." Liam nods, "fuck." 

"I'm a man of one, Liam. I've got bills, I've got a rent to keep up with, and I've got hopes believe it or not." Zayn stirs suddenly and Liam blinks, dumbfoundedly. 

"Who said anything about me being upset?" He bites back, curiously vicious and Zayn stays silent for a minute, mopes into some fantasy thought that he can't keep up with. 

"I bet you're loving this." He says, finally, the end of some Mexican folk song because it's theme night.

"How would I be loving this? My show is flourishing because of you and now you're, what, gone just like that?" Liam wonders, pinches his eyes together into a squint and radiates nothing but pure disgust. Betrayal.  

"We both know it isn't like that, this wasn't-"

"Forever." Liam finishes for him, waits for Zayn to protest his assumption and jump to correct but-

He doesn't. 

"Because you're just a rabbit, hopping from dream to dream, living it up without the shackles of love at your ankles." Liam draws on and he blames it on the air. Or maybe the way he sort of hates how this is happening now. Right at the brink of success. The peak.

"Unbelievable." Zayn tucks his lip in, swallows hard.

"Yeah, Zayn. Unbelievable is exactly the word I was searching for. Thanks, mate." Liam lifts his glass, cheers to nothing because that's so accurate. 

"You've been on me arse for a fuckin' century about true love and how it's this massive load of bliss and contentment and how m' a complete knob for shunning it all away f'r minutely shags and one night stands, but-" Zayn drabbles and Liam holds down a scoff, a scowl that he plans on blowing the second Zayn gives him a reason to. 

"I hold reason, believe it or not." He adds, spaced out words like it stings. 

"For?" Liam wonders. 

Zayn curls his lip in, bites along chapped skin and blinks, exhausted. 

"You can only see so many hopeless people before you realize there is no happy ending." Zayn chases out, a mumble, a drag of something Liam would frown at but instead stares blankly. 

"You can't seriously believe that." Liam accuses, keeps his tone steady. 

"You can after a parade of 'em march through your life. Narcissistic, codependent, unfaithful." Zayn lists and Liam ignores the shudder that runs along his spine, stuns him like electric shock. 

There's this cough from nearby, or rather next to them that diverts both of their attention. A woman, dressed in some frilly skirt and a bluffy blouse.

"What can I getcha'?" She wonders, accent rich and slightly twisted. 

"Just a water." Zayn mutters and she nods, scribbles out a quick order along her pad of paper. 

"Tap s'fine." He adds and Liam's eyes widen, lift from his twiddling thumbs and meet Zayn's halfway. 

"What? I've been told it's the same thing." Zayn defends and Liam just smiles into his next sip, drowns in the blush swallowing his cheeks as the waitress departs. 

"Service here is probably shit, right? Too many dancers and the bimbo's are a dull bunch." Zayn speaks after a few minutes of drumbeats and maracas. Clicking heels along tile floorboard and helpless giggles all around. 

"Definitely." Liam grees, sarcastically. Stirs his straw around and arches a brow when Zayn shuffles across from him, stands to his feet and knocks a knuckle against Liam's shoulder. 

"C'mon." He says and Liam's lips part, a confused cough because-

"Let's dance." Zayn suggests and Liam chokes on a laugh, spins out slow shakes of his head and turns away. 

"Come on, Leeyum." Zayn holds and Liam denies. 

"Not a chance." He mumbles, amused. 

"I've seen your excited little pep dance f'r when Nick sends you flowers or whenever your mobile rings, so I want t' see you really dance." Zayn pushes and Liam stutters.

"You're insane."

"Maybe." Zayn shrugs, "or maybe you deserve some fun." 

Liam nods, curses Louis mentally for the terrible 'fuck it' moments he's so menacingly shoved into his brain and begins to slide out of the booth. A hand on his lower back becuase Zayn seems so aware of where to go and how to go about getting there. 

The dance floor is crowded, too many men and women with flowy clothing and skin tight jeans. It's all like some night club, tropical music and flamboyant strobelights lighting up the space. 

There's this quick swing of raven and a smudge of tan, sun kissed, before Zayn's got his right hand on Liam's hip and the other just a little higher on the opposite side. A quick step to the right has Liam gasping, but he follows through, keeps a playful grin all the way until Zayn begins to step on the toes of his feet. 

"You're shit at this." He bellows out over the music and Zayn laughs, mouths out a quick 'I know,' past pink, thin lips and shoots for another swing left. 

Liam laughs, spins with the music and melts into the rhythm they've stirred up. Messy circles around the same few couples, odd stares and a few rude glares but Liam can't really be bothered because his heart feels good. He feels good. 

He feels human. 

(Not like a robot with a set timer every morning to get up, fill his system with awful, manufactured chemicals and sigh and groan and sob over everything that goes wrong like it's his biggest concern.)

The music shifts into another sped up beat, lyrics like gas as they hit the air, spread around.  Jumbled together lyrics that sound a lot like  'The way you walk, they way you talk, the way you smile sets me off' sent spinning through Liam's head. 

Zayn presses his thumb into Liam's hip, spins them around, a move Liam isn't familiar with- 

(Dance lessons with his mum for his cousin's wedding at 17 because she insisted paying off now.)

But he goes with it, sparks a breathless giggle when Zayn nudges his nose into the crook of his neck, soft lips brushed up against his ear and he shudders backwards, filthily. 

"You could stay, you know." Liam says, voice toned up to mask the music. 

Zayn hums, sets his hands over the curves of Liam's hips and steers him left, leans in once more, "twice the pay and a better wardrobe team." 

Liam scoffs, keeps the rhythm and stutters his hips back, caught in this moment with ridiculous blaring music and Zayn's horrendous dancing skill. 

"You've got me." He mutters, doesn't try to mask the music and comes to a halt altogether when Zayn spins him back, presses their foreheads together with ragged breath and something a lot like want in his eyes. 

"We've got an early flight." Liam drops the connection, backs up and runs a hand through his hair, a thin layer of sweat stuck to his skin that he curses at. 

"Right." Zayn nods and doesn't protest when Liam begins to shy away from the dancing couples, the music and the feeling of life. 

A feeling he, regrettably enough, is beginning to regret sparking in the first place.

 

===

 

The lift is cramped. 

Only that isn't exactly accurate because Liam and Zayn are the only two inside.Jittery fingers along slacks and jean fabric and hums that match the elevator music because Liam can't stay silent yet he's terrified of saying anything at all. 

The walls are closing in on him until-

"Fun night." Zayn says and Liam turns to look at him. 

"Yeah?" He wonders, keeps his back pressed to the wall as Zayn shrugs. 

"Better than being pissed drunk with Ant and a few of his producer buddies." Zayn replies and Liam sinks into that response, can't help the way it makes his heart pump a little more profusely. Rapidly.

 The silence is pure, lift gears shifting as they rise through the shaft. 

"So we have a car at eight, d'you want me to call you?" Liam clears his throat, shifts his position. 

"No, I've got me alarm." Zayn nods and Liam clamps down on his lower lip. Right. 

The floor counter chimes and Zayn steps forward, waits for the doors to shift open before stepping out, "my floor." 

"Yeah." Liam nods, "see you tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow." Zayn echos, stood right along the door line. 

"Eight o'clock." Liam adds and Zayn nods, casually.

"Eight o'clock." He repeats.

 

**===**

 

They're sugary- Zayn's lips. Plush and wet and they slide easily along Liam's everytime he joins them together, forward, backward, tongue mangled moans and feely fingertips. 

Fucked hair by the time they find the lightswitch in Zayn's room and shredded open dress shirts by the time they stumble towards the bed. Duvet a flattened out art until they plummet backwards, Zayn on top Liam as he slots their lips together. Groans and nudges in all the right places because Liam's cock is full on jumping at all of this. Lurching away from his suit and pressing eagerly against his briefs. Tight material that's squeezing him to an unbearable mess. 

"Fucking hell." Zayn mumbles, ragged breaths along Liam's neck, sloppy kisses that feel cool against his blistering hot skin. 

His hands are firm as they trace along Liam's stomach, clothed. Zayn's fingertips eager as they fiddle with the buttons lining up the center of Liam's shirt. 

"Lemme just-" He cuts off, smirks when he flaps along the collar, "Finamore, Liam?" He wonders and- fuck. Liam blushes, uncontrollably. Busted. 

"Yeah, you like- your advice, mate. Lay off." He chases out, chews at his tongue and shifts underneath Zayn's warmth. 

"Nah, mate. S'like proper hot." He grins and Liam swears he's chewed his lip bloody. 

Zayn dips his head, pops another button with his fingertips and leaves this trail of soft kisses along Liam's chest. Delicate movements, nothing rough like second before, more or less relaxing if Liam isn't completely mental in his head. 

It's when Zayn pops the final button, spreads either side of Liam's cover, (or his armor) away from his chest that he feels the urge, the nagging impulse to apologize. 

"S'been like- fuck. M'sorry. I'm so sorry." Liam drabbles, bites at his lip to keep from spilling or blubbering on about how he's meant to get to the gym, or he's meant to quit the afternoon kips and perhaps jog around the block once a week or eat healthier, or-

"Stop it, Liam." Zayn suddenly perks up, reaching over, fingertips tracing over, up and across Liam's stomach. An action that causes Liam to shudder.

"God, just stop." Zayn begs between a breath and Liam freezes, lets his arm fall to the side. The same limb he didn't realize was blocking most of his stomach and abdomen. 

"I just- m'not average." Liam whispers, this shame to his voice that he's not all too proud of.

"Shuddup, you're like- you're perfect." Zayn mumbles, yet his voice is so true, so sympathetic and Liam isn't used to this gentle side of Zayn. 

"I want t' jus' get my mouth all over you, s'that bad?" Zayn wonders, leaning down, his lips pressing right under Liam's chin, his tongue swirling in circles, sweeping over, down past a nipple and back up to Liam's jaw and- 

_Oh._

He's definitely talented with his mouth.

"Mhm." Liam hums in approval.

"You're better than average," Zayn coo's, his lips catch up on Liam's neck, kissing, pecking, and kissing again. 

"Fuck, you-"

Liam cuts off, swallows loudly, his teeth gnawing at his lower lip as he sighs, goes slack, sinks back into the duvet.

He swears he's breathing so heavily Zayn's probably making fun of him in his head, trying his best not to laugh or snicker or just call him out.

Yet he won't, Liam knows he won't because, well-

"Flip over for me." Zayn orders, his voice is rough, scratchy and thick. Demanding, but it strikes something inside of Liam and he obliges. 

He slips onto his stomach, hands spread against the bed spread as fingers from behind dig at his slacks band.

"John Elliott's?" Zayn wonders from behind and Liam groans into the pillow. 

"Would ya' quit it?" He pleads and waits for Zayn to laugh. He does, a slow smoky chuckle that Liam's fucking mental for. 

Zayn's got his pants off, the designer ones he picked out himself a little less than a month ago and Liam's sort of momentarily in love with the way his fingertips draw goosebumps, chill his skin over like November ice. A thin layer. 

The elastic to Liam's briefs is loose and it's easily disposed of, hitting the floor somewhere to his left. Or maybe it's his right, his senses are fucked out of his mind and he can't see through the darkness properly. He's entirely focused on adjusting to Zayn and his touches. This moment and that's all. 

"Fuck, you're like-  _god, Liam_." Zayn mumbles, his fingers drawing back for another attempts at his briefs, tugging, pulling lightly at them, the material soft as it slides down, down, down.

"So pretty." Zayn hums, his fingertips tracing over the dimples in Liam's back, curving down, over and cupping his hand over Liam's arse.

It's an awkward feeling, skin that's touching him in a place he never really traces himself. But it's new, and Liam sort of likes it. Likes the way his heart rate speeds up just a little bit when Zayn's hand comes down somewhat hard on his arse cheek. A surge of pleasure that hits Liam hard. 

"Do you like it? When I do that, I mean." Zayn asks, and Liam groans something close to an approval, his voice muffled by the thick sheets puffed up around him.

"Liam, m'so hard, babe, s'like painful." Zayn says, his voice is higher, a whine to his words as his fingers dip into Liam's crack, sliding down past his cheeks, pointer finger pressing against his hole.

"No." Liam yelps, only it's sort of faded, but Zayn stops.

"Don't need it, just-" Liam adjust, propping himself up on his elbows as he takes a breath.

"S'okay, jus' go for it." Liam begs, begs because he's waited so long for this. Waited so long for  _this_ even though he doesn't know what  _it_  is. These built up frustrations that he's had no idea what to do with for months on end. 

"Didn't take ya' for the rough type." Zayn says, and Liam can hear the humor in his voice.

"Shuddup." Liam whines playfully, arching his back just a few inches from the sheets, his cock pressed, stuck to his stomach with precome and sweat. 

Zayn laughs that smoky laugh he's so known for. Something like after a long drag from a cigarette outside a bar downtown. Flickering light posts that remind Liam of a time where this was merely a hallucination. 

Zayn thumbs at Liam's entrance, hums a steady moan that shifts into something larger, louder. And Liam can feel a bolt of electricity up his spine. A nerve invasion that sets his hips in motion. Has him grinding forward, the friction against his cock over the top as he digs into his chapped lip with his teeth. 

"Fuckin' look at you." Zayn groans, pleased. 

"Just gotta like-" He mutters, the undoing of a zipper hitting Liam's ears like a warning. The frantic shedding of tight slacks and a dress shirt like he's actually about to-

_Woah._

It's sudden. Liam can feel the head of Zayn's cock pressed against him, slow circles around his tight hole, a slippery sort of moisture that comes along with it. 

"Good?" Zayn breathes and Liam nods his head, in taking a breath strongly.

"Yeah, yeah, s'good." He mumbles, clamping down hard on his bottom lip, Zayn pressing, shifting forward until Liam wants to just burst, push back, beg for this. He needs it more than he's willing to admit and it's been far too long since he's been with another bloke and this is  _so fucking fantastic._

"Maybe you could like- you could like get up a bit? Like on your knees?" Zayn asks, pulling himself away and Liam wants to just explode.

He shifts though, props himself up with his elbows. Indenting the pillows underneath him as he grunts, whimpers. 

"S'okay, I've got you." Zayn hums, his hands are steady along Liam's back, curving, slipping down around Liam's rib cage.

And his fingers are so nimble, so gentle. His left dipping down, right above Liam's navel, fingers brushing against his throbbing cock. Precum stuck, spread across his lower stomach like some sort of webbing.

"Shit."

"Good?" Zayn asks, his thumb pressing against Liam's head and it's so  _fucking_ good.

So  _fucking_  ridiculous but he's  _loving_  it.

He's here, in this suite with Zayn's cock pressing against him, his gentle fingers wrapped around Liam's cock like it's his profession. 

(Aside from being a brutal devil at work, but Liam won't think about that now. Not here).

"C'n I like- can I?" Zayn wonders, his lips are so close to Liam's ear. He's bent over, his stomach is close, inches away from Liam's back and it must be such an out of place position but it's working.

"Yeah, please,  _god_." Liam begs. He's got to, it's painful. He's painfully hard and he can feel Zayn's thumb brushing over his hole and it's so thorough, so quick that he yearns for more. 

However, he can hold back, he wants Zayn, this isn't all about him. "No, I don't-"

"I want to, Liam, s'cool. I want to hear you." Zayn offers, his thumb curling, pressing down against a puckered rim, a tight muscle. And Liam can't feel his cock against him, pressed just under the curve of his crack. It's different, though Liam's still suspended up in some sort of invisible harness.

"Oh my god." Liam arches his back, hisses because Zayn's so good at touching him and it isn't just his thumb anymore.

Liam can feel this sudden wet, lap of Zayn's tongue against him. Circles, slurping making this awfully filthy sound but it's so sweet.  _Pornigraphicly sweet_ , he thinks but stuffs the grin into his sweaty shoulder. 

There's this prickle against his skin, some stubble Zayn's forgotten to shave away but it's oddly nice. Like it adds more feeling and Liam was sure up until ten seconds ago he could feel every string of pleasure possible.

He's moaning, he really isn't meaning to, but he can't help it when he's got his co-workers tongue inside of him.

"Ya' sound so fucking hot, babe, s'like-  _fuck_." Zayn hums ruthlessly against Liam, his hands spreading him open, cold air hitting against his skin. His words are only adding to it all and Liam's ready to bubble over with something,  _anything_ , he's just so fucking turned on. 

He folds into the feeling, giving in, his knees are weak but he can still hold them up and it's so gratifying, so pleasurable.

"Look at this, look at  _us_." Zayn says in between dips, another slick lap at Liam's hole. 

"So fucking beautiful, man." He adds, his fingers tight on Liam's arse as they spread his cheeks, and it's so unnecessary but he loves it, takes it because it feels really fucking good under all of the heat, all of the pressure. 

Maybe he misjudged, maybe he didn't. But he knows what he wants when he wants it.

"M'gonna come before I even get inside of you, you're like-" Zayn stutters, his hands still grasped, full on Liam's arse.

"Do it, then." Liam urges, his lips swollen from hard teeth, dents against his lips because this is nothing yet it feels like everything and he  _needs_  this.

"Yeah?" Zayn wonders.

"Yeah." Liam confirms, lifting his arse just up an inch, or maybe it's two and he can feel Zayn against him again, like he should have been ten minutes ago.

But these things can't be rushed because they're definitely temporary.

"Jus' gotta get inside you, like." Zayn grunts, his prick aligned with Liam's wet hole.

"So wet," Zayn whispers, "s'fucking hot." He adds, pressing, one hand against Liam's back.

And it's properly incredible, that first push, the pain is impulsive, tremendous but it's so worth it. The sting, the massive wince that Liam battles out with a groan. 

"Fuck-" Zayn gasps, a second smack to Liam's arse and Liam's mouth drops open, moans spilling, pouring past like a broken beaver dam. A messy river of ' _oh my fucking hell's_ ' that poison the air in between the both of them. 

He swears his spine is numb, like this fire is spreading inside of him, taking down his stomach, then his lungs and his skin is scorching. Hot like ashes. Embers.

"God, d'you need like- fuck, Liam. I can chill back a bit, y'know." Zayn mutters, and he isn't making much sense, really. Not one ounce but Liam shakes his head anyway. 

"No, s'good." Liam gulps, "just like- jus' shag me, okay?" He asks with a sway, steadying himself and waiting for that push and pull. That sting and simmer he knows is coming. 

Zayn's hips stutter, pulling back after a mere second and just pressing forward, a hiss from his lips that's contagious like the plague.

It's like toxins, seeping through Liam's veins and taking him over, pushing him from amazing, ecstasy to shooting pain in his lower region and it's the mixture of his hard cock and Zayn's prick shoved, stuffed deep inside of him. 

"Oh fuck," Zayn groans, his hand is on Liam's back, sliding, slipping around with too much moisture, the sweat collecting from the astounding heat filling the room. Foggy, balcony doors Liam can barely make out from across the way with blurry vision. 

He's so open, so spread out and it feels so good yet it burns so terribly. However, it's so much better than he could ever imagine and he's falling into every thrust Zayn squeezes in. 

"You're like- you're squeezing me, man." Zayn shovels out, ragged breath and whimpers that have Liam's prick jolting forward, brushing against the sheets. 

And there's this flickering flame, curling, wrapping itself around Liam's body like a snake. A shiver to attend as well, beginning at his ankles and shooting through his veins all the way to his nose. He's engulfed and it's so fucking prodigious.

"So good, s'like-" Zayn mutters, breathless between pushing inward. Slamming slowly for a good minute, but that doesn't last as long as Liam expected.

It's steady, then messy all at once, repetitive quakes, moans from Zayn's plump, pink lips that Liam wishes he could see right now.

Liam presses his palms into the mattress, eyes pinched closed with ragged breaths and the sound of skin on skin, slaps echoing the steamy room and retreating back to his ears.

It's so sloppy. Sloppy but fitting.

"God, you like- fuck, babe." Zayn hisses, this circle of his hips, the tip of his prick hitting that spot inside Liam, a nudge the first push, a full on blow out the next and it's prodigious.

"M'gonna like, d'you want me to slow down? I c'n touch you if you prefer, just-" Zayn offers, breathlessly, exhausted like he's about to pass out and Liam's there as well.

He finds his energy of course, swiveling back, pushing against Zayn and spitting out a quick; "no fucking way."

He's set, so fucking set with Zayn buried deep inside of him, these beautiful whimpers falling, slipping past his lips.

And there isn't much talk, conversation. Not like there should be, and not like there shouldn't be, Liam's just so fucking ready and-

He pinches his eyes shut, winces, sucks in a deep breath through his teeth before-

He's never really- well, he is now. This wall of pure pleasure shatters, cracks to pieces inside of him and he's gasping wetly, stomach rising, falling, rising again. His prick jerking, twitching like mad as he spurts hotly, long strings of come against the hotel sheets.

His brows are furrowed, lips parted with hot skin on hot skin. 

His cock spilling a few more steady lines along the linens, (thankfully enough they're white.)

Liam can feel Zayn still hard inside of him, his hands are steady against Liam's waist, a shiver and a stutter of his hips.

"So fucking- oh  _god_ , Liam." Zayn swears,  a twitch inside of him, a jerk and he feels lazy. Spent.

"Oh, shit, shit." Zayn chases out with a groan, his come spilling, shooting, flooding Liam. A reckless climax with shaggy breaths and slowed down, dragged out curses. 

And it's their breathless breathing, ragged gasps spilling down and along Zayn's hotel room walls for the next five minutes. Or maybe ten. Or perhaps an hour because Liam's melted into this position. 

Shaky sticky hands crawling up Liam's spine, a hushed 'wicked, mate' under Zayn's breath as he keeps himself stuffed deep. Completely fucked over into Liam. 

It's an endless amount of time later when Zayn slides backwards, leaving Liam a wincing mess as he sinks low, flat stomached along the duvet. 

"Rule number-"

"Fuck off." Liam snorts, wrecked. His eyes are heavy and he smiles into a very well deserved slumber. The thump of Zayn's heart slow and warped as it drones on, pattern softly against Liam's back. A lullabye if that isn't too cheesy, he thinks and knocks out within the minute. 

 

**===**

 

It's sometime around three in the morning when Liam stumbles to his feet, can barely make out the bundled up Zayn who's curled into one of the hotels pillows. Inky hair loose as it hang over his eyes, steady breaths and small shifts now and then. An indented print from where Liam previously lay still fresh along filthy sheets. 

And he sighs when he pulls on his slacks, slips on his shoes and slips silently out past Zayn's door. 

Like he was never there. 

 

**===**

 

The morning brings sore thighs, a mild headache and too much regret for Liam to stand. His mind is swimming with 'what the fuck' and his eyes haven't even fully opened yet. There's an irritating beep somewhere to his left and he curses when he knocks his mobile to the floor, stretches himself off his mattress to retrieve it. An alarm, a missed call from Christian and a message from Niall. 

Niall. 

Liam blinks, lips parted as he clears his throat. A groggy sort of cough like he's sick with some brutal flu. 

He swipes his thumb across the screen, silences the alarm and sits back against sticky pillows. He may have fucked up. 

Almost. 

 

**===**

 

"I can't believe you have the proper nerve to show up here after failing mission X." Christian bellows, pissed. 

His face is this light shade of red and darkening, fists clenched at his sides as Liam sinks in his chair, defeated. A two hour flight from London back to Birmingham and the first welcome he receives is, well-

"Fucking bullocks." Christian curses and Liam sighs. 

"Why wouldn't he want to leave? He's got perfectly logical reasons to bail and I don't-"

"Care?" Christian offers.

"No, I don't blame him." He finishes and watches as Christian's jaw clenches, his eyes narrow and he purses his lips together thinly. 

"What the bloody fuck happened in London?" He wonders and Liam's heart jumps, his stomach flips fully and his eyes drop to his scribbled calendar. 

He pauses before answering, holds his breath until he can't any longer, "couldn't matter less." 

"Well, he quit y'know." Christian spits, runs a shaky hand through his hair. 

"CBS called, closed the deal with him, corporate's havin' a shit-fit and I'm losing my fuckin mind trying to book someone for the balloon festival." He paces, kicks his foot along the bookshelf and Liam winces. 

"We don't need him." Liam stands to his feet, irritated. 

"You better be spot on, Liam Payne. Or we're canceled." Christian threatens, but Liam's already gone, slipped out past his desk and through his office door. 

"I'll find one by the end of the day." He yells back, confident. 

 

**===**

 

"Perhaps he's just on strike?" Emma proposes, keeps a speedy pace beside Liam as he shuffles past a hallway filled with replacements. 

Zayn Malik replacements because that's so literal. 

"No, no." Liam shakes his head, unfortunately enough, "he's out." 

"M'sorry, darling. I know how much work he was f'r you and it isn't fair how he butts out last minute." She comforts and Liam melts into her words because she's always there when he really needs her. 

"Yeah, s'pose." He mumbles, scans the upcoming room, lads lined up down the hall and out the door. 

"At least you've got Niall, right?" Emma wonders, cheerfully, a cheeky nudge to Liam's rib and a pinch to his hip. 

"Er, yeah, I guess, but-"

"Good, then. Stick with him. He's a proper lad." Emma cuts off, smiles ear to ear and motions toward a few blokes standing by the door. 

"Your opinion, love?" She asks and Liam tilts his head, sighs. 

"No, no, maybe, nope, perhaps, fuck no." He rushes out and Emma bites at a smile. 

"Next." 

 

  **===**

 

The sky is a light blue, the sun high and projected above an open, green field. Mowed grass and the scent of fresh clippings hit the air like perfume. Large balloons fill the sky and their shadows tower over all of the equipment, all of the rides, all of the tents and people. 

Liam sniffs, kicks his foot against a pebble and watches as it rolls along bladed grass. 

"Liam, man. Ace replacement you've got for Zayn, he's like-" Louis snorts from nearby and Liam grimaces , mopes like a complete knob. 

"God, who dressed you, The Great Depression?" He wonders once he's got a full view of Liam's outfit, amused grin as all as he sips at some diet cola.  Harry's stood by close, gawking at the balloons with a pair of sunglasses Liam swears are his, but-

"Shove off it." Liam groans, presses his thumb and forefinger to his nose and applies pressure to ease his headache, (or just ache in general because he absolutely detests Zayn Malik).

"Jus' sayin', mate. Ya' look properly upset," Louis says and Liam bows his head, kicks at another rock and only lifts his chin when he hears the new guy. Olly, or something a hell of a lot more daft. He's hollering from across the field about his hair and Liam shoves a scoff into his elbow. 

"Is it Zayner?" Louis asks and Liam gives him a look. 

"We're so fucked, Louis." He spills, shakes his head in shame because he could have stopped this, could have stayed and talked him out of it in the most vulnerable of states, which is definitely not right, but desperate times call for desperate measures and if Liam needs to strike Zayn when he's just finished spurting all over and inside Liam, then, well-

"Correction." Louis holds a finger up, "you're fucked. M'recyclable." He smirks and Liam scowls. 

"Fuck off, right prick, you are." He groans, shoves himself off and away from the van and stalks forward, towards his newly, somewhat posh-looking disaster.  

The cameras are all pointed, angled, focused on the main balloon. Olly's onboard, facing the camera, repeating his beginning line over and over with some odd smile and a fidget with his fingers that looks a lot like a gun bang. Some daft looking hat and a devilish smirk plastered to his lips. 

"Hat off, smirk gone." Liam orders the second he's in audible distance. "And please drop the gun banging, it isn't cool." 

Olly obliges reluctantly, scowls briefly and Emma sighs from beside Liam. Her hair is pinned up and she's got her head tilted at the scene infront of her. Absouloutley horrenndous. 

"Alright, we're live in three, two, one-" Emma counts down, knocks her head back when Olly shoots her a grin. 

"Hello, M'Olly and I'm Zayn's replacement!" He cheers, brings the invisible handgun out, then back to his lips only to save it with a peace sign. 

"My god, he's going political." Liam groans, disgusted. 

"Today, M'on a balloon, innit cool?" Olly continues and Liam physically shutters, a chill runs up his spine and his brain probably loses a good ten braincells when Olly grins. 

"Anyway, I'm here to give you all proper tips on how to get it on." He pauses, "and let me assure you, you're in ace hands." 

"I need a NyQuil," Liam mutters, earns a reassuring rub along his lower back from Emma.

"You're looking at a lad who's personally slept with one hundred and thirty nine people. Lads n'birds, m'not picky. And most of 'em were continuous!" He adds, causing Liam's breathing to stutter and his heart to lurch backwards. 

"We're cutting this. Fucking cut it." He orders, disgust spreading over his features like wildfire, a beyond pissed expression because-  _what the fuck?_

"I can't, we're live and-"

"Fine." Liam huffs, sets forward and yanks the balloon basket door back, open, snatches his mic and shoves Olly out, the fucking knob. 

"I'm endlessly sorry, but Olly will no longer be able to join us on this channel. Ever." Liam sputters into the mic, breathless. He doesn't know what he's doing, but he's got this anger built up inside of him, this massive pressure he needs to release somehow and this is well near a pretty logical way to do it. 

He's positive. 

"Which shouldn't come as a surprise at all, really. Some people are jus' seemingly  _unreliable_." He huffs out, battles out a breath and keeps his eyes focused on the camera. 

"Take Zayn Malik for instance. He just up and quit the show, not even a final bang, not so much as a goodbye, even." Liam spits, feels the venom slowly begin to drain from his blood and he's almost free. 

Almost. 

"You think you know people. You think you know their next move, or their next sentence, or even their next bullshit designer outfit." Liam raises his voice, pissed, fuming. 

"And when they actually need to step up to the plate, y'know, make a move. They just piss out, completely and let me just-"

"Tell you something about control freak twats who seem to devour the thought of an actual love." 

Liam pauses, gulps when Zayn boards the basket. He swats for the microphone and Liam gasps, irritated, when he succeeds on confiscating it. 

"Or rather just most people for example. They have a check-list, is my lover perfect, does he enjoy classical romance novels, is he into poetry or stand up, does he fancy kitties and ponies and fuckin' baking cookies on Sunday." Zayn spits and Liam's left standing there, mouth propped open with nothing but awe. 

"It's always pounds over substance, looks over soul, polish over principles. S'sick is what it is." Zayn adds and Liam's had quite enough. 

He grabs at the microphone, succeeds with fumbling fingers as he brings it to his lips. 

"This is coming from a bloke who's only gesture is this;" Liam motions with his free hand, shifting like he's jerking an invisible- well. 

Zayn scoffs, "so the hotel room wasn't a gesture?" He wonders and Liam's cheeks heat at the memory. 

"No, the hotel room was a moment of passion and- no, it was followed by panic on your part and regret." Liam swears. 

He's forgotten about the camera's focused in on them four feet away, the incredibly steaming flame that's keeping the huge balloon above their head afloat. Filled. 

"Regret?" Zayn repeats, questioningly. Something a lot like hurt seeping into his caramel eyes. A shade a lot like black coffee now. Bitter. 

Liam stays silent, purses his lip because in all honesty, he can't confirm. He's so fucked and that pisses him off more than anything. 

"That wasn't panic, babe." Zayn bites, ready to fire once more, "that was unwillingness to compete with the list in ya' head." 

Liam shakes his head, properly disgusted as he yanks for the mic. 

"So, really, you should be thanking me." Zayn adds. 

"Thanking you? Are you fucking with me?" Liam wonders, puffed cheeks because he's huffing like a fairytale wolf. 

Zayn nods and Liam can barely make out Emma in his rear vision, her ten fingers up and dropping. 

"Shall we soar, princess?" Zayn tilts his head and Liam scoffs, "up, up and away." Zayn taps his finger along the basket railing. 

"Well, there you have it, lads and ladies of Birmingham. The ugly truth about how a poor sod in heat for two blokes." Zayn mumbles into the microphone, "And how he chose the one with a better résumé." 

"That's bullshi-" 

There's a jerk from underneath them, a sudden quake that shakes Liam unsteady and he grasps the railing as the basket sways up, up, foot after foot with Zayn- the complete arse- cackling like a madman. 

"Looks like we're fucked, huh?" He says and Liam takes in a deep breath. Hates how he can see Emma a frantic mess twenty feet below and counting, higher and higher, further and further. 

"Would you quit shaking? You're going to end up killing us both." Zayn spits when Liam perks up. 

"This is coming from the lad who's afraid of clouds n'd calls out for vodka on airplanes." Liam mutters, irritated. 

"I just swore on live television." The realization hits Liam and he sinks into some momentary horror. 

"Oh, fucking hell, man." Zayn shakes his head, shameful. 

"I hate this." Liam says. 

"No, you hate yourself for being so shallow." Zayn corrects, only he isn't correcting anything because Liam  _isn't_  shallow. 

"Hey, you know what? Forget it, right? We could just pass the time by you tellin' me all about how you and Niall shagged relentlessly after our little trip to London," Zayn encourages, this incredibly phony smile attached like he enjoys making Liam feel guilty. 

"Niall and I broke up, you bastard." Liam hisses, swallows down the hurt he refuses to mold into an expression. 

"Oh, did you? Wonder why? Couldn't be because of our-"

"Accident, and no, it was because-" Liam attempts, but. 

"Wait, hold on. Accident? So youre telling me you accidently took my cock like a champ n'd fucking-"

Liam winces, turns away so he doesn't have to face Zayn. He can't look at him. So instead he traces the way the sun is beginning to dip in the afternoon sky. An orange glow mixed with golden streaks. 

"I was sick of being the bloke someone told me to be." Liam mutters, ignores Zayn's spiel altogether. 

"Yeah, well." Zayn shrugs and Liam squints, waits for him to say what he wants to say. What he's going to say without a doubt because Zayn is still Zayn and Liam's still Liam and this is still a life where even without his company on the show, Zayn will still continue and torture Liam from afar. Him and his thin pursed lips, inked over skin that's sort of (appealing) appalling, and a devilish grin every time Liam mucks up a word or spills Red Bull on himself or-

"You need to explain yourself, I mean, my god, mate. Ya' left me there." Zayn arches a brow, keeps his hands latched to the railing because he isn't quite fearless yet. 

"Explain myself?" Liam repeats, raised brows because he may sort of owe it to him, but at the same time it's all pretty self explanatory. 

"I mean, do I really? It's so fucking simple, Zayn. You and I are incompatible, we always have been. Day one with your cocky, arrogant opinions and my feverish obsession with a proper love story. I was your prey and you took in humor by watching me struggle." Liam stammers, hates the way he feels like a miserable sap.  

"Prey on you?" Zayn steps forward, expression twisted and hands at his sides. "Not even close."

He's got this look, this look that Liam almost mistakes for sympathy, pity, but it couldn't be, no-

"Stop it." He says, sternly. 

"Stop what, Leeyum?" Zayn drags out and Liam hates that. 

"Looking at me like we're going to pick up where we left off. That isn't what's happening here." Liam drags his eyes across Zayn's. Leaves them focused on the view of Birmingham's skyline. 

"Clearly, it isn't like I ever had a chance with you." Zayn scoffs lightly, rolls back his shoulders and simmers into a slouch. 

"It isn't like you wanted one?" Liam partially answers for him, but more so for himself. A conformation, a reality check because Zayn couldn't have- no, he wouldn't have been so stupid. He's careful, precise, uncommitted. Tucked away into his own little corner of the world. One without promise rings and daft flowers.

Zayn stays silent, and now suddenly it's his turn to gaze away, keep his eyes off of Liam and anywhere else. 

"It isn't like you would have-" Zayn trails off. 

"You're absolutely right, I jus' had a mis lapse of judgement." Liam says after a while, nods off and pulls his lower lip under his top, smooths it over with a striped tongue, "when I thought you were more than you are, but you're just another lad with another everyday normal life with another misunderstanding." Zayn mumbles and Liam can't really match the words right. They sound jumbled and they don't make that much sense in his head. 

"What do you mean?" Zayn wonders, simply because he can't help it. 

"Oh, I'm Zayn Malik, I like rough shagging and burning love guids." Liam mocks and Zayn squints his eyes. 

"You're fucking kidding, righ-"

"Oh, I also love fucking like a monkey, don't fall in love either, it's  _scary!_ " Liam drags out, sternly but humerously because it's just  _so_  accurate. 

"Yeah, it is pretty fucking terrifying, especially when I'm in love with a psycho, hopeless romantic like you." Zayn spits out, rushed, words thrown in like mental and they hit like missils. 

"I am not a psycho," Liam argues and he watches when Zayn's jaw goes slack. 

"I just told you that I was in love with you and all you can pick out of it is that you aren't a psycho?" Zayn wonders and Liam gulps, 

"I'm-"

"The definition of neurotic." Zayn finishes, only that isn't what Liam was meaning to say. Not at all. 

"I am not, you're just upset because I haven't said it back yet." Liam lifts his chin. 

"You were going to?" Zayn wonders and, well-  _fuck_. 

"I was." 

"You were." Zayn repeats, his lips quirk and Liam can make out through the sun's crimson rays a small smirk. 

"Well, Liam Payne. It beats the shit out of me, but I'm fucking in love with you. And I'm a little bit terrified, perhaps a lot. But you're sort of more than an infatuation, I'm positive." Zayn sways forward and Liam draws his brows together, waits for it all to come crashing down. 

It doesn't. 

Instead Zayn keeps his hands out, presses his fingertips into Liam's hips and draws him forward, presses them together and keeps his lips close. 

"You're a fucking handful." Liam mumbles against chapped, thinned lips. 

"But you love me?" Zayn wonders and Liam sucks his bottom lip in, doesn't regret how he leans forward, slots both of their lips together slowly, then messily all at once. A breath back for air a few seconds later because that's a necessity. 

"But I love you," Liam answers, eyes in a squint because he's smiling like a complete knob. 

But that's okay, really, because Zayn looks just as dopey with red stained cheeks and one of his familiar grins smoothed over his lips. And Liam giggles because he can't just not, Zayn, drawn up eyebrows and a manic grin. 

"Real or fake laugh?" He wonders, humorously, an arched brow as he steadies himself along Liam's torso. 

"You'll never know." 

 

**===**

 

The End

 

**===**

**Author's Note:**

> Hope those of you who read this enjoyed? Yes? Maybe? Not at all? 
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr 24/7. [My blog.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ch3stpaynes)
> 
> Thanks for the read!


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